Caffrey Aloha
by penna.nomen
Summary: On vacation in Honolulu, Peter, Neal & Mozzie prevent a jewel heist. Angst: Neal worries he isn't reformed enough. Fluff: Poker, beach fun, loopy Neal, embarrassing nicknames. Other: Wedding of Neal's aunt & Peter's brother, and an OC comes out. Dec 2004–Jan 2005 (Christmas & New Year's) in the CC AU where Peter recruited Neal instead of arresting him
1. Somewhere Over the Rainbow

_A/N: Although this story is part of a series, I've tried to make it stand on its own. As the families gather in Hawaii in the first chapter they reflect on the past year and catch Peter's nieces up on who's who. It's a chance for new readers to catch up, and for those familiar with the AU to reminisce._

 _See my profile for a list of the stories in this AU in order. My profile on FF also includes a brief description of each story. On AO3 you can find all the stories and descriptions by following the link to the Caffrey Conversation Series. This story comes between An Evening with Genji and The Dreamer._

 _The Burke and Caffrey families have grown quite extensive over the life of this AU, so it may feel like I'm throwing a lot of names at you as they all gather in Hawaii. See the end of chapter 1 for the list of the Burke and Caffey family members and how they are all related to Peter and Neal._

 _White Collar and its characters are not mine, alas._

 **Wednesday evening. December 15, 2004.**

Neal Caffrey sat at his dining table, making the final edits on his paper for Professor Sherkov's graduate seminar on Dutch baroque painting. The semester ended on Friday, and there wasn't much time left to polish the paper. He had to admit, he'd had doubts over the summer that he could handle working for the FBI and going to Columbia. Now he was about to wrap up his first semester with a brilliant analysis of Rembrandt's technique. All he needed was one night with no interruptions.

He was tweaking the wording of the paper's intro when he heard Mozzie's distinctive knock. Back to iambic pentameter again. Neal suppressed a sigh. "Come in."

Mozzie burst in, full of excitement about his upcoming trip. In the morning he'd leave for Hawaii, where he would be conspiring with his latest business partner. It sounded mostly legal, which had been a relief for Neal. Now he didn't have the quandary of whether his loyalties belonged to the FBI or to his friend.

At first it seemed Mozz had simply dropped by to say goodbye. Even though Neal planned to spend Christmas and New Year's in Hawaii, it was unlikely they'd run into each other in the next few weeks. Neal would spend his time on Oahu, and Mozzie's ventures would take him to a different island. But before Mozzie left he grew more serious and said, "It's been a year."

Now Neal really did sigh. He'd hoped Mozz would forget it was the anniversary of his first day working for the FBI. Mozzie hadn't been thrilled about that that change in Neal's life last December, but had decided it was a chance to get inside the Bureau and learn how they worked. He'd fully expected Neal to become bored or disillusioned and leave before a year had passed.

"One year ago today you sold your soul to the suits."

"Yeah, I remember. Peter mentioned it in the morning briefing, although he phrased it somewhat differently," Neal said. "It's also the anniversary of him being promoted into his role of leader of the Manhattan White Collar division."

"No plans to leave?"

"No," Neal said, wanting to shut down this line of inquiry. "I'm good at my job, and I like it." He stood up to have more freedom to gesture as he made his point. "Soon I'm going on a vacation, Mozz. A real vacation. No need to come up with another alias. No fears that the local police might recognize me from a wanted poster. We're talking complete and total relaxation."

"You don't miss it at all? The excitement, the rush of the job? Joining a crew and learning new skills from them?"

"No, I don't," Neal insisted. "I get all the excitement I need from my cases at work, and I'm learning new things all the time at Columbia."

"But you're confined to New York with this job. You used to go to Europe on a whim, immerse yourself in the culture and languages. You can't tell me dinner in Little Italy is the same as a week in Rome."

"When I'm done with school I'll have time to travel again. My classes make up for it. Instead of immersing myself in Paris, I'm immersing myself in great art."

After Mozzie left, Neal struggled to concentrate on his paper. He had to admit he'd exaggerated a bit in his responses. His cases could be exciting, but between the times he went undercover, there were mortgage fraud cases which could set records for inducing boredom. And he did worry that his language skills were growing rusty. Sure, every few months a case came along that allowed him to speak another language, but in most instances it was only for a few minutes. That couldn't compare to the times he'd gone days without speaking a word of English.

And his most recent foreign language experience? The last several days there'd been a Hispanic construction crew arriving every morning as he left for work. June had hired them to remodel the bathroom in the loft Neal rented – a truly generous Christmas gift to her tenant. Unlike his kitchen, where the vintage appliances were charming and functional, the bathroom had been the victim of a 1970s era remodel, complete with an avocado green sink. The work was almost done now, and it looked fantastic. Mostly Neal had stayed out of the crew's way, but he did overhear a few snatches of conversation in Spanish.

What a change from the last couple of years before he joined the FBI. In those days he'd picked up new languages and increased his fluency in the ones he already knew. He'd gone to Europe and Asia, experiencing languages in the cultures from which they sprang. He'd enjoyed being a citizen of the world.

But running from the law hadn't been fun, he reminded himself. He needed to stop thinking about those days, and concentrate on his paper instead.

 **Sunday evening. December 19, 2004.**

Neal left the Aloha Emporium much happier than he'd been on Wednesday. His final papers and projects were all turned in, and his musings about growing rusty with languages had resulted in a brainstorm on Thursday night. He'd spent the entire weekend working on the murals Mozzie had insisted were needed for his new business venture with the owner of the Emporium. By doing the work in their shop during business hours, Neal was able to spend substantial time in conversation with the employees, receiving an immersion into Hawaiian language and culture. No one was going to mistake him for a native when he got to Honolulu, but picking up the basics of a new language was a pleasure he had been happy to indulge in.

 _I've missed this_ , he thought as he pulled on his winter coat and trudged outside. Not that he could tell anyone, of course. The people in his new, law-abiding life would be concerned to hear he found something missing in this life. They'd be afraid that maybe he was getting bored, being tempted to return to a life of crime.

He'd planned to walk to the subway station, but it was freezing outside. The rain wasn't quite sleet, but it was so cold it stung when it hit him. Seeing a taxi approach, he hailed it and slid gratefully into its warmth as he gave the driver his address on Riverside Drive.

"Mind if I play the radio?" the driver asked.

Neal shrugged and said without thinking, "Whatever you want. I like music." A moment later he felt a twinge of regret as the song "Peace and Joy" filled the taxi.

Last December, Neal had met former rock star Michael Darling, Grammy-winning keyboardist and composer for the group Local Devastation. They'd been a favorite of Neal's during the 1990s, and meeting Michael and reading the sheet music for a Christmas ballad called "Peace and Joy" had been hugely exciting for him. He'd predicted a year ago the song would become a hit, and he'd been right about that. The song had been released right after Thanksgiving, and now it seemed like you couldn't turn on a radio without hearing it.

Over the summer, Neal and his cousins Henry and Angela had wrapped up a long con in which they were performing as a rock group known as Urban Legend. Eventually they brought the FBI into it, using every resource they could to skyrocket Urban Legend to enough fame to get signed by Masterson Music, and then to prove that the company was cheating its clients. Neal had called in a favor from Michael Darling, and Urban Legend had performed at a Local Devastation reunion concert in July.

By December Urban Legend should have faded from the memories of most people, if not for that holiday song. During the sting, Michael Darling had agreed to let them record "Peace and Joy" if they agreed to let it be included as a bonus track on the album of the reunion concert. The album had been released in time for the holidays, and now Neal constantly heard himself harmonizing with his cousins on the radio. There'd been no escaping the teasing from his colleagues at the FBI and at Columbia.

Who would have guessed a year ago that he'd be in college? Or that his college friends would know his long-hidden alias as a singer in Urban Legend? His life had changed more than he ever could have expected. So if he felt antsy now, looking back, that was normal, right?

 **Friday morning. December 24, 2004.**

Peter Burke's first thought when he woke up was surprise that he'd fallen asleep. Usually he couldn't sleep on airplanes, but then again, usually he didn't travel in first class. He checked his watch and saw it was almost 6am Eastern time. The flight had left JFK shortly after midnight, so they were probably over California now. In another six hours they'd be landing in Honolulu.

His wife Elizabeth was sleeping in the window seat beside him. His parents were in the row behind them, and his nieces were across the aisle from their grandparents. Directly across the aisle from Peter were his brother Joe and Neal Caffrey.

As far as Peter could tell, he and Joe were the only people awake in first class. They were both morning people, and of course Joe probably had a lot on his mind. The reason they were all on this flight was that Joe was going to marry Noelle Winslow in Hawaii next week. And the reason they were flying first class was that Noelle's parents, Edmund and Irene Caffrey, had insisted on paying for the flights for everyone attending the wedding.

A wedding, even for a second marriage, was enough to make anyone nervous. When you factor in an illustrious ambassador and former movie star as your new father and mother in-law, the nerves had to escalate. As the older brother by ten years, Joe had often looked out for Peter, but this morning it felt like the roles were reversed. Peter was the cool and collected one. He caught Joe's eye and nodded toward Neal, sacked out in the window seat. Only twenty-five, the kid had led quite a life. He'd traveled widely under many aliases, making his way as a con artist, thief and forger. A year ago Peter had recruited Neal, convincing him to give a confession in return for immunity. It had been a risky move but had paid off. Neal was a great addition to the team, with a gift for undercover work.

When they'd first met, a feverish Neal had introduced Peter as his stepfather, and then had made a joke of calling Peter _Dad_. It hadn't taken long to discover that Neal hadn't had stellar father figures growing up. As a child Neal had been fed a fantasy about his absent father, and it turned out that Peter embodied many of the traits Neal had wanted in a dad. Soon Peter's latent paternal instincts kicked in, and Neal started to feel like a son. Who would have guessed back then that the Burkes and Caffreys truly would become family? After the wedding, Neal would actually be Peter's nephew.

Over the last year, Peter had often turned to Joe for advice. After all, Joe's daughters weren't much younger than Neal. Rosalind had recently turned 22 and was a senior in college, and Viola was a sophomore. Peter decided to distract his brother from wedding nerves by asking, "Did Neal give you any indication of what's bothering him? I thought he'd be more excited about this vacation. In fact I could swear he was at first, but in the last few days I started to worry he'd find an excuse to stay home."

Joe shook his head. "Have you tried asking him?"

"I wish it were that easy. When something's eating at Neal, his response is to deny it. He's an expert at evasion."

"Even if he evades, his reaction to a direct question might tell you something," Joe suggested. "Remember, he's not _The New York Times_ crossword puzzle."

"Yeah," Peter acknowledged. That comment hit a chord. Neal had said something similar shortly after being recruited by the FBI – how he was no longer a mystery for them to solve. For some reason, Peter kept returning to last December when he thought about what was up with Neal now. He just needed to figure out why. "I wish I'd said something to him earlier. My radar started pinging a week ago, but I let it go because it was just that one time. Then it started up again Thursday morning and hasn't stopped."

"You remember what was happening last week?"

"I've been wracking my brain on that topic. Someone said something, and there was this flash of dismay that crossed his face. It was gone in a moment. Both last week and yesterday, it occurred while the morning briefing was wrapping up. Lots of conversations break out as people leave the conference room to return to their desks. It's almost impossible to guess which conversation he was reacting to."

"We can trade seats when he wakes up, if you want to talk to him," Joe offered.

"No. I mean, thanks, but that won't work. He'll feel trapped if I confront him here in the plane. I need to approach him when he's relaxed and in an environment where he has the option of walking out if he thinks he needs space."

Joe smiled approvingly. "That's thinking like you're helping a person, not solving a crossword."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal woke at 7am Eastern time, when the lights brightened in the cabin. Flight attendants were stopping at each row to take breakfast orders, and Neal chose the pineapple upside-down pancakes and a glass of orange juice.

Joe ordered the same thing and then said, "How'd the renovation turn out?"

"As I've told June, she deserves an award for being the best landlady in Manhattan. She went for top of the line all the way, from the shower to the fixtures to the crew." Neal frowned a moment at the fact that the word _crew_ still made him think of a group of criminals. It had been a year since he'd given up that life. That was long enough to be rid of those old habits and thought patterns.

"She hired the Vasquez Brothers?" Joe asked, naming the crew he'd recommended. At the time Joe had mentioned that the Vasquez family had worked on several of the projects where he'd served as an architect, going back nearly twenty years.

"Yeah. Juan Vasquez was quite a character. Most of the time when they were in the loft I was at work or staying in one of June's guest bedrooms, but the few times I was around it was clear they were a family operation. His sons and nephews always followed orders but they liked teasing him. And you could tell he's still not used to having a woman on his crew. Carmen's his daughter, right?"

Joe nodded. "She's a great electrician, and she doesn't let her dad get away with treating her differently from the rest of the crew. Did you meet his son Eric?"

Neal paused as the flight attendant handed them their drinks. "He filled in a few days when a couple of guys were out sick. Some of the crew were razzing him. They kept calling him 'college boy.' Seemed a bit old to be in college though. I'd put him at around Henry's age, 28 or so. Is he getting a masters?"

"About ten years ago, Eric asked if I'd write him a letter of recommendation for his college application. Now that he has his degree and a successful architecture business of his own, his family still teases him about being the first one in his generation to get a degree. They're proud of him, but also want to make sure he stays grounded. He kept working with them through college to pay for school, and he still fills in when they need help."

Their breakfast trays arrived and for a few minutes they were too busy eating to talk. Joe was finishing the last of his pancakes when he said, "I asked if you'd met Eric because he reminded me of you. He faced some of the same challenges you are. Working a full-time job while going to college can be stressful. Fortunately he had a family to rely on. Their teasing helped relieve some of the stress, but there may have been times it put him on edge."

Neal looked sharply at Joe.

"Peter may have mentioned you've been on edge recently. You've got a lot of new people in your life, putting a lot of new expectations on you. Sometimes that has to be uncomfortable. Remember your family is here for you, and wants to help you. You aren't alone."

"I get it," said Neal, not wanting to talk about himself, especially with Peter probably listening in. "Did you see the remodel of Peter and Elizabeth's kitchen? Peter said when you raved about the Vasquez Brothers to June, El got inspired to go ahead with her own remodeling dreams."

"The girls and I got the tour," Joe confirmed. He glanced back at his daughters in the row behind them. They had finished eating and both had headphones on now. "Speaking of the girls, I'd like to ask your advice. You know they've never met Henry. Pretty soon he's going to be their stepbrother, and they're kind of in awe of him. You too, for that matter."

"Why?" Neal asked.

"The thing is, it's not often Peter can tell us anything about an active investigation. Last summer when he mentioned he was working on a case that involved rock music, we got wrapped up in it. We heard some of the Urban Legend performances online, and watched when the Local Devastation reunion concert was televised."

Well, that explained why the nieces Peter had described as fun and outgoing had acted shy around Neal when they met at the airport. "Tell them to hang out with Angela," Neal advised. "She's closest to their age – she turned 23 in June – and Henry thinks of her as a little sister. If they're hanging out together, Angela will set the tone of treating Henry as an annoying big brother, and he'll respond in kind. They won't be in awe for long."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The flight landed shortly after 5am Honolulu time, and they reached their hotel in Waikiki an hour later. The rest of the Caffreys and Winslows had arrived the afternoon before, and several of them met the Burkes and Neal in the lobby with room keys ready to lead the newcomers up to their suites. Everyone was going to meet for breakfast at 8:00, and Neal looked forward to catching up with his grandparents, his aunts Noelle and Paige, and even Henry's Winslow grandparents.

Tired of being cooped up and seated on an airplane for 12 hours, Neal greeted the sunrise at 7:00 with a jog on the beach. He wasn't surprised when Henry ran over to join him. Henry was quiet for a few minutes, and then said, "Looks like rain."

Neal put on a burst of speed, but Henry caught up with him again.

"You know, Mom's going to be worried if she notices you're brooding about something," Henry said. "She has a lot on her mind with the wedding, but she does tend to notice stuff like that."

It was bad enough trying to keep Peter from figuring out what was going through Neal's mind. The last thing he wanted was to worry Noelle. Today was her birthday, and New Year's Day would be her wedding day. She should be enjoying herself.

Keeping secrets from Henry wasn't even an option. He and Neal were so alike that at times it seemed they could read each other's minds. The fact that Henry hadn't guessed what his Christmas gift was could only be explained by distance. Henry had spent August through most of November traveling, including a long stop in India. They'd done some catching up over Thanksgiving, and then Henry had finally returned to the family business in Baltimore, where he worked as an investigator at Winston-Winslow, also known as Win-Win.

Maybe part of the problem had been Henry's absence. For years Neal had been used to having his cousin available as his best friend to confide in, and then suddenly he was out of touch for months. Peter had taken on the role of confidant to some extent, but when there was something he didn't think Peter would understand, he'd internalized it out of habit. But he realized he didn't have to do that anymore. "If I tell you, will you help me distract Peter and your mom?"

"You don't want them to know what's going on with you? That won't be easy. We're talking about an FBI agent and a professor of psychology. Both of them are smart and nosy by nature."

"I just need time to figure things out." Neal came to a stop and looked back. They were further from the hotel than he had realized. "We won't make it back in time to shower and change." They were both wearing swim trunks and covered with sand and surf they'd kicked up on the beach.

"Not a problem. We're eating breakfast on a terrace on the beach. Half the people there will be in swimwear. Island life, kiddo."

Nodding, Neal set a slower pace back toward the hotel as he explained his concerns. He realized that the very act of putting everything in words and saying it aloud clarified his thinking. He really had missed talking to Henry.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

True to his word, Henry caused an immediate distraction at breakfast by announcing that he'd like to try playing a ukulele.

Noelle raised a brow at her son's announcement. "You already play piano and guitar, and you spent most of your childhood thinking the world was your drum."

"I figure I should play at least as many instruments as Neal can speak languages."

"Then you've got a long way to go," Neal said. He started listing the many languages he knew, only to be interrupted by Henry.

"Don't forget I took sitar lessons in India, and I played a recorder in elementary school."

Angela broke into the competition with, "Look, it's raining."

Sure enough, it was raining over the ocean. And then Noelle pointed out the rainbow. "That settles it," she said. "This place is magical. Ever since we got here, I've felt like Dorothy in Oz. Now we have proof that we're somewhere over the rainbow."

"Who's the wizard?" Neal asked.

"Oh, I know," said his grandmother. Irene Caffrey loved musicals and _The Wizard of Oz_ was a favorite even if it had been filmed before she'd become a star. "The wizard was supposed to take Dorothy home. So for Noelle, the wizard would be Joe."

Noelle nodded. "Yes, my husband-to-be has made life seem magical."

Peter made a comment in a low voice that Neal couldn't hear, but Joe blushed.

"And I would be Glinda, the good witch," Irene added. "Because as your mother I've always given you good advice and guidance."

"And because Glinda had better costumes than Auntie Em," Noelle added with a laugh.

"I'm the scarecrow," Neal said. He could use a new brain – or an upgrade – to figure out his latest issues.

"I'm the lion," said Henry. "Closest thing to a tiger."

"Why tiger?" Joe wondered.

"Oh, that was my nickname as a kid," Henry explained.

"Yeah, how did you luck out?" Angela complained. "Neal was Baby Bear. I was Funny Bunny. And you got Tiger?"

"Obviously, it's because I was older and more dignified than either of you," Henry explained.

"I knew about Baby Bear," Peter said. "That was because Neal growled like a bear when he was grouchy. Where did Funny Bunny come from?"

"She bounces when she's excited," Henry said.

"And she loves to laugh," Irene added. "She was such a happy baby. It's a long family tradition. My parents called me Bluebird, after the phrase 'bluebird of happiness,' because I had a sunny nature. When David was born we called him our Little Lion, and then when the twins came along we called Noelle Honey Bunch and Meredith was Sweetie Pie."

"'Lions and tigers and bears, oh my,'" quoted Elizabeth from _The Wizard of Oz._ "My parents called me Bumblebee. For some reason I loved wearing yellow."

"Our current nicknames came from my job," Edmund said. "When I received my first ambassadorial post the State Department recommended the family call me Ambassador, but that was a mouthful for the grandkids when they were little. Funny Bunny here shortened Ambassador to Dor, and my wife went from Ambassadress to Dressa."

"Wait a minute," said Angela.

"Anyway, getting back to ukuleles," Henry interrupted. "Does anyone know where I could borrow one?"

"Hold your horses, Tiger," Angela continued. "That's the nickname your Winslow grandparents gave you. I'll bet you have something much more embarrassing from the Caffrey side of the family." She looked expectantly at Irene. "Right?"

Neal grinned. "It must be really good, for him to have kept it secret all this time."

Henry leaned back and crossed his arms. "If you're such a hotshot FBI consultant, why don't you figure it out?"

"You're on," said Angela. "Before we leave Hawaii, Neal and I will figure out your real nickname."

"A mystery," said Peter with a gleam in his eye.

Neal raised his glass in a mock toast to Henry for the brilliant move. The best way to keep Peter distracted was to tempt him with a puzzle to solve.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Having started the day off with two breakfasts – one on the plane and another at the hotel – they were eager to be active. The morning and afternoon were spent on a tour of the island followed by shopping shamelessly at tourist traps. They all bought loud Hawaiian shirts and wore them to dinner that evening. Following a luau, they gathered in chairs and on beach towels around a fire pit on the beach. The temperature was in the 70s and the fire was a small one, for ambience rather than heat. A circle of torches around them provided light.

"Where are the marshmallows?" Henry asked.

"Always the sweet tooth," Edmund said, looking fondly at his oldest grandchild.

"Ooo, that would be a good nickname," Angela noted. She looked at Henry. "Is that it? Sweet Tooth?"

"Wrong," said Henry. "Marshmallows?"

"I told you he'd ask for them." Irene reached into a canvas bag, pulling out the treat and prongs for roasting them. "Fortunately the hotel was ready."

"Are we going to tell ghost stories?" asked Rosalind as the first marshmallows turned golden brown over the fire. "Hey!" She slapped her younger sister's hand. "Roast your own. This one's mine."

"As a matter of fact," Noelle said, "I have something like ghost stories in mind."

"Really?" asked Viola. "Is that a Caffrey Christmas tradition?"

"No, but if we like it we could make it a tradition," Noelle told her. "You see, I was born on Christmas Eve, right before midnight, and my twin sister was born in the first minutes of Christmas Day."

Joe's daughters traded a look.

"Yes, the mysterious missing sister," Noelle acknowledged. "She's one of the ghosts we'll raise tonight. Anyway, my parents did their best to let us have a birthday celebration separate from Christmas each year, but as I child I couldn't help resenting their very unfortunate timing."

Rosalind and Viola giggled, as did Angela and Elizabeth.

"And now on this vacation we have my birthday, Christmas, New Year's Eve and then a wedding. It's a lot of holidays and celebrating. I'm taking advantage of the way brides are traditionally indulged, and hoping you'll follow my suggestion of a method to get us through it all. Tonight we'll focus on the past. One thing you learn as you get older is that the holidays aren't limited to joyfulness. There's a lot of sadness, as we remember those who can't be with us due to death or other circumstances, and we shouldn't try to ignore that sadness. On the other hand, we shouldn't wallow. It's good to take time to appreciate the happy memories we have of those who aren't here. That's what I'd like to do in place of a birthday celebration tonight. Then tomorrow, on Christmas, we'll focus on the present."

"And presents," Joe added.

"Of course. That takes us to New Year's, which is an excellent time to think about our hopes and plans for the future, and that's a lovely lead-in to a wedding."

"Indeed it is," agreed Betty. "Perhaps reflecting on the past, present and future will become a Burke family tradition."

Noelle reached out and squeezed her future mother-in-law's hand. "I'm looking forward to learning about the existing Burke family traditions, too." Then she looked around at the assembled family and said, "You may think it's odd that my former father and mother-in-law are here. But when I divorced Robert 12 years ago, I knew that Henry still deserved to have both sets of grandparents in his life, and Graham and Julia deserved to be around him." Looking at the Winslows she said, "I grew to love you both very soon after I got married, and I know you wanted to get away from your usual holiday routine this first Christmas after Robert's death. I have very fond memories of holidays at your home and on your boat."

And somehow that led naturally into reminiscing by Graham and Julia. He spoke about his first wife, who had died when their children were in their teens and early twenties, and about the changes Julia had wrought in his life and in his company. A British citizen, she'd introduced the concept of Boxing Day to the Winslow family. They shared some memories of Robert, too, focusing on his childhood antics.

Henry added some comments about happy memories, including the times his father took him along on his annual trips to play poker in Las Vegas.

Next Edmund and Irene started talking about their oldest child, David. An Air Force pilot, he'd died in Afghanistan in the summer of 2003. They talked about his love of adventure. His widow Paige and daughter Angela also added memories.

Then Luke and Betty spoke up. Neal was surprised to learn that Joe and Peter had another brother. Timothy had been about three years younger than Joe, and had died of SIDS as a baby.

Noelle prompted Rosalind and Viola to talk about their favorite memories with their mother. Joe's ex-wife was still alive, and even though their marriage had ended long ago and Joe got custody of their children, he had worked hard to make sure his daughters maintained a good relationship with their mother. "I want you to be comfortable talking about your mom around me," Noelle said. "She's an important part of your lives."

The girls shared several amusing stories, and as they wound down Viola looked at Noelle. "You said something about a twin sister."

Noelle nodded. "When I first met your father, I told him that we don't talk about Meredith outside the family, but you are family now. We're going to trust you with an important secret, if you think you can keep it. Will you promise not to talk to anyone outside this circle about her?"

With the promises made, Noelle asked Neal to share whatever he felt comfortable telling about Meredith Caffrey Bennett. He started by explaining that his father, James Bennett, had been a cop who got involved with the Irish mob. Eventually he'd been caught, and his crimes were so serious that his wife and son and his partner on the police force were all sent into WITSEC. Neal told them that he grew up unaware of any of this, instead believing his father had died a hero. "I learned the truth when I turned 18, and it was such a shock that I ran away. To make a long story short, Noelle learned I was missing and asked her ex-husband for help finding me since he worked at Win-Win, which is a private investigation and security company. Robert farmed the assignment out to Henry, who tracked me down, and then we embarked on an epic road trip."

As Edmund, Irene and Noelle shared memories of a much younger Meredith, Neal came to appreciate how very much she had changed over the years. In WITSEC Meredith had to give up her career in catering, she had been requested to change her religious affiliation, and she had to hide her gift for languages. What did it do to a person to suppress everything you are? Meredith had shown up briefly at the end of Henry's birthday party in August, and afterward Noelle had described her sister as empty – as if Meredith had evaporated and a stranger the U.S. Marshals had named Deirdre Brooks occupied her body.

Neal frowned into the campfire. That wasn't what Peter wanted, was it? For Neal to empty himself of his past life and experiences, transforming into the perfect FBI employee?

Henry nudged him. "Cover for me, if they miss me." But Henry slipped away so quietly and stealthily that he wasn't missed. A few minutes later he returned, carrying his guitar, which he handed to Edmund Caffrey. "How about you go back another generation? Tell us about some ghosts of Caffreys past."

Edmund had come from a long line of itinerant musicians, and it was nearly impossible to talk about them without being inspired to sing. Soon Edmund was leading the group in singing "Let There Be Peace on Earth," followed by "I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day" and "Silver Bells." In that song Henry took the lead on a chorus turning the words into, "Baby Bear, Baby Bear, it's Christmastime in Hawaii," and the resulting jeers from Neal and laughter from everyone else brought the musical interlude to an end.

Graham and Julia Winslow reminisced about their own childhood Christmas memories, and Luke and Betty Burke did the same. Joe and Peter joined in, talking about how Luke had coached their hockey teams, and Elizabeth finally spoke up to share some of her memories. She described a time shortly after she married Peter when he took her to a hockey game and she'd started out horrified at how rough the players were. "And then by the end," Peter added with a chuckle, "she was yelling, 'Hit him harder!'"

"I was not," Elizabeth insisted, but there was a mischievous gleam in her eye that triggered a memory.

"When I was a kid…" Neal started, and then trailed off.

"Go on," Noelle said.

"Well, my… my mom decided we should make Christmas cookies when I was seven. It was a shortbread dough we rolled out and then used cookie cutters to make shapes that we baked and decorated with different colors of icing."

"I loved her shortbread cookies," Irene said when Neal paused. "It was my mother's recipe, but Meredith had a knack for making them better than anyone else in the family. And I imagine your decorations were works of art."

"They looked good," Neal acknowledged, "but we ate most of them as soon as we iced them. We barely had a plateful left the next day. What I remember most was when the cookies were baking, and we started to clear out mixing bowls and stuff so we'd have space for them to cool. The flour canister was almost empty, and I was supposed to refill it before putting it away. About half way through I lost my grip on the package, and flour went everywhere. We were both covered in it, dark hair dusted white, and it was in drifts on the floor and countertops. I thought she was going to be mad, and instead she started laughing. She picked up a handful and threw it at me like a snowball, and I remember how she grinned when she did it. Then we drew patterns in the flour on the cabinet doors and somehow even the cleanup seemed like a game. So often it seemed like she was depressed, but that night she was the fun person that everyone describes growing up. Kind of like she was a kid at heart."

Betty reached out to pat his shoulder. "Peter did that, too – spilling flour everywhere during a baking project he was trying to help with. He looked so helpless and bemused I had to laugh."

"Of course that was on winter break when Peter was in college," Joe said. "Didn't exactly have the cute factor of a seven-year-old boy."

Neal leaned back and grinned. "What can I say? I'm adorable."

Henry and Peter both threw sand at him. "Yep, he looks good covered in flour or sand," Henry said with a grin.

"A definite improvement," Peter agreed.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

It was only 10pm when everyone went back to their rooms. Although that sounded early, it felt much later given that it was 5am on the East coast, where most of them lived.

While Edmund and Irene Caffrey had insisted on paying for the flights, Graham and Julia Winslow's wedding gift was paying for the accommodations. The wedding couple had a private bungalow. Everyone else was distributed among several two-bedroom suites. Neal and Henry shared a room with two queen-sized beds, which opened into a living area. On the opposite side of the suite was a second bedroom for Edmund and Irene.

Henry chuckled as he sat on his bed. "My mom, the psychologist. She managed to turn Christmas Eve into a group therapy session."

"It wasn't like that," Neal protested. "It was a good way to get to know everyone. Mostly it was fun, except when it turned poignant. I didn't know Joe and Peter had a third brother."

"You weren't the only one hearing new stories. No one told me Meredith showed up in D.C. on my birthday."

Neal shrugged. "It was after you left. You went away to deal with your grief and guilt over your father's death and you didn't come back until three months later. Anyway, she was just there for a few minutes. The Marshals knew about the party and stopped by as they were moving her to her new location. The only person she talked to was your mom."

"But you know what they talked about." Henry was clearly pushing for answers. He had a masters in psychology and could be just as nosy as Noelle.

"Yeah. I'll tell you all about it after you tell me your nickname."

"Not happening. I can get Mom to tell me what Meredith said." Henry turned off the lights in the room.

"Little Drummer Boy?" Neal guessed. "My earliest memory of you was in a kitchen, where you'd pulled all the pots out of the cupboards and were using them as a drums."

"Shut up and go to sleep."

"Bossy Pants?"

"Not even close."

 **Saturday morning. December 25, 2004.**

After a brunch buffet in one of the hotel restaurants, everyone gathered in the suite Angela and her mother shared with Joe's daughters. Since they had all packed for a two-week stay, carrying lots of packages would have been a hassle. It was agreed that everyone would have one present to unwrap in Hawaii, and Angela had put herself in charge of coordinating with gift givers to make sure each person had a small present. She taped a large poster of a Christmas tree on the wall and had everyone gather around while she doled out gifts in what she deemed to be the correct order.

"Is she like this every Christmas?" Neal asked Henry.

"Yeah, she likes organizing us. And you called _me_ Bossy Pants. You have no idea."

Angela started by handing boxes to the Caffrey and Winslow grandparents. Irene got bear slippers in honor of having picked the nickname Baby Bear for Neal, and Edmund got bunny slippers for calling Angela a Funny Bunny. Graham's slippers were tigers, in honor of his nickname for Henry, and Julia's slippers had a nautical theme to represent the love of sailing she shared with Henry. The final gift to that generation was an envelope of hockey tickets for Luke and Betty; they would be going to a New York Rangers game with their sons.

Peter and Elizabeth had officially received their gift from Neal in New York, but he had brought a digital photo of it rolled up like a scroll so they could show everyone. It was a painting by Neal depicting the three of them around a campfire on a starry night at the Burke family cabin. "This scene is from a night of stargazing on Halloween," Peter said, "when we were kicked out of the cabin because Joe had just proposed to Noelle. El thought we should give them some privacy. Which they would have had, if Joe had actually called to reserve the cabin instead of just showing up, assuming that no one else would be there."

"Hey, no one goes up there on Halloween," Joe protested.

"Didn't you tell me going to the cabin for stargazing on Halloween was an old tradition of yours?" Neal asked.

"What's the next gift?" asked a blushing Elizabeth.

Angela gave her mother – an aeronautic engineer – an airplane Christmas ornament, explaining that they collected a new airplane ornament every year. The gift to Noelle was a photo Neal had procured in Las Vegas over the summer. It was of Henry in a gondolier costume at the Venetian resort. Henry and Neal had been trying for years to get the manager of the gondoliers to hire one of them, and over the summer Henry had finally won that competition. Noelle laughed. "This reminds me of when you were all babies. Meredith liked dressing you up in costumes." She leaned over and kissed Henry on the forehead. "Don't be jealous of Neal, sweetheart. You're adorable, too."

"Oh, wait! Is it Sweet Heart?" Angela asked.

"No it can't be," Neal protested. "She calls everyone _sweetheart_ or _sweetie_."

Henry smiled smugly. "You're never going to guess. You might as well give up."

"Never!" Neal and Angela insisted. Neal was glad to see Rosalind and Viola nodded, getting caught up in the interactions with their new family members.

The next gift was for Joe and his daughters. Peter handed them an envelope containing tickets. "I heard you became big Urban Legend fans. They aren't touring anymore, but because they have a hit song right now they were asked to perform New Year's Eve. The concert will be on the beach here in Waikiki."

"Of course, we're just doing a couple of songs. The big draw is Local Devastation," Henry said nonchalantly, although he grinned when Rosalind and Viola squealed. "Oh, yeah, and it's going to be televised. It seems there's this big deal about a ball dropping in Times Square and performances by lots of groups while they wait for midnight." The squealing grew louder, with the girls grabbing their father's arms and insisting they needed to buy new clothes before they attended a televised concert.

Joe laughed and hugged them both, settling them down so that Angela could continue. "Next we come to my gift," she said. "At Henry's birthday we met some of those itinerant musicians and artisans on the Caffrey side of the family, and I fell in love with the dulcimers."

Edmund added, "I'd been a bit harsh about Angela's wish to study music in graduate school, afraid she'd return to the hardscrabble life I'd fought my way out of. I wanted to let her know I'll support her dreams, so I commissioned a dulcimer from one of my nephews. We gave it to Angela when it arrived a couple of weeks ago."

"And I love it," Angela said. "But I didn't want it bumping around in the plane, so nothing for me to open today."

"Hmm," said Irene. "I'm sure I saw something with your name on it."

"What?" While Angela sat in shocked silence, Henry reached behind the sofa to hand something to his cousin.

"Edmund isn't the only one who commissioned something from his relatives," Irene said as Angela unwrapped a leather carrying case for her dulcimer. "One of his nieces designs these."

"Oh, my. It's beautiful!" And Neal saw that Henry was right. Angela did bounce when she was excited. Soon she composed herself and said, "I think my favorite gift is the one going to Neal." She slid a box in his direction.

He opened the box to find a photo album. It was filled with pictures of his family, from Irene and Edmund's wedding photos down through the generations with pictures of Henry, Neal and Angela as children. At first he paged through it in silence. When they went into WITSEC they hadn't been allowed to take any pictures with them. He'd never had a photo album. Then he turned a page and looked up at Peter in surprise. "This is you."

"The Burkes are your family now, too," Peter said. "The album was El's idea, but it became a group project to collect all the photos."

"This is amazing," Neal said. He turned to Elizabeth. "Thanks. I never would have thought to ask for this, but it's perfect."

They passed the album around and people exclaimed and laughed at some of the pictures. As it came back to Neal, Angela said, "But what about Henry? No one told me what his gift would be."

Neal met Noelle's eyes. "Did you tell Joe?"

She nodded. "He's going to be my husband, so I thought he should know. But I haven't told anyone else." She handed Neal a file folder.

Neal looked around the room. His grandparents and Peter and Elizabeth already knew, and of course Noelle and Joe did, too. Graham and Julia knew part of it. His aunt Paige, Henry, Angela, Joe's daughters and Peter's parents were in the dark, but they'd been trusted last night with the knowledge that he'd grown up in WITSEC. "This falls under the promise you all made yesterday. If you don't want another secret to keep, just head outside for a few minutes."

No one left.

Taking a deep breath, Neal said, "Henry's always been like a big brother to me. He's looked after me, annoyed me, even impersonated me on occasion. Not so easy now though," he added, running his hand through his hair. During the Masterson con Henry had grown his hair longer to resemble Neal more, but now it was cut much shorter, and Neal's comment garnered a few chuckles. "Anyway, this is probably as much a gift to me as it is to you. I found out a couple of days after your birthday. Dressa suggested I tell you for Christmas, but I probably couldn't have kept it a secret this long if you hadn't been out of the country." He handed the file folder to Henry.

Henry opened the file folder to see Neal's birth certificate, and his eyes widened in shock to see Noelle listed as Neal's mother.

"You really are half-brothers," Irene said, reaching out to rub Henry's back. "You were only two and a half when Neal was born, too young to remember."

"How…" Henry seemed at a loss for words.

Irene explained how her daughter Noelle had acted as a surrogate when Meredith had been unable to carry a child to term, and how one of Noelle's eggs had been used. "We didn't know that last part," Irene explained. "We told the doctors we didn't want to know whose egg was selected, but they wrote it down in case we changed our minds. When Meredith stopped in D.C. for a few minutes, she gave that old note to Noelle."

Henry stared at them, still speechless.

Neal said, "Merry Christmas, brother," and then Henry finally reacted, pulling his younger brother into a hug.

"Best Christmas present ever," Henry said in a hoarse voice, as everyone around them cheered.

 _Family cast list:_

 _Burke Family: Peter and his wife Elizabeth. Peter's parents Luke & Betty. Peter's brother Joe, and Joe's daughters Rosalind and Viola._

 _Caffrey Family: Neal's grandparents Edmund and Irene (Dor & Dressa). Their children David, Noelle and Meredith. David's wife Paige and their daughter Angela. Noelle's ex-husband Robert Winslow and their son Henry. Robert's father Graham and stepmother Julia._

 _A/N: A belated Merry Christmas to those who celebrate. This chapter contains many, many references to the previous stories of this AU. I can't do justice to them all, but you can find a list of all the stories in order on my profile page. If you want to know more about prior stories, or wonder which story contained specific scenes or elements, leave a comment and I'll look it up for you._

 _I've created a Caffrey Aloha Pinterest board so you can see images related to the story and a cast list. A second board titled Caffrey Album will go up shortly to show some of the items in Neal's photo album. The next chapter of this story will be posted in a week. In it Mozzie will interrupt the bachelor party with concerns about a jewel theft, and Peter will try to figure out what's bothering Neal._


	2. Follow the Yellow Brick Road

**Monday afternoon. December 27, 2004.**

Elizabeth Burke was relaxing in a spa with the Burke, Caffrey and Winslow women. She sat beside Noelle and Paige, and they were carefully sipping mai tais while their recently manicured fingernails dried and their feet soaked in preparation for a pedicure. They wore lightweight, sky blue robes, and bride-to-be Noelle had a lei of white orchids around her neck. The room felt like a tropical paradise, filled with plants and exotic flowers, accompanied by the calming sounds of a waterfall splashing behind them.

"This is much better than a wedding shower," Noelle said. "Joe and I already have so much stuff we're trying to consolidate into a single household, the last thing we wanted was more gifts."

"I noticed on the wedding invitations you requested people give to charities in your honor," said Paige.

"That's right. Registering for gifts the first time I got married was painful enough to last a lifetime. I was glad to skip that."

"Joe mentioned he's moving to Baltimore," said Elizabeth.

"Yes, his architecture business takes him up and down the East Coast, so he could be based anywhere. My work as a professor isn't as flexible."

"Will you…?" Elizabeth was in the middle of asking whether the couple would live in Noelle's townhouse, but trailed off when someone ran into the spa. "Mozzie?"

"Mrs. Suit! You have to tell me where to find Neal. It's an emergency!"

"My phone's in my bag." She glanced toward the shelf where they had left their purses, but she couldn't stand up with her feet in a bowl of warm, soapy water.

"No, his phone is off. The Suit's is, too."

"Of course. Peter said they'd turn off their phones at the bachelor party."

"What's going on?" Angela padded out of the massage room on her way to the steam room, her robe open to reveal a bright purple bikini. Mozzie shielded his eyes, and she grinned and tied her robe.

"Mozzie's looking for Neal," Elizabeth explained, worried by Mozzie's agitation. "What do you need him for? You said it's an emergency?"

"Yes! There's a crime against humanity underway, and the FBI needs to intervene!"

"Please, Mozzie, can't you go to the local authorities with this? We're on vacation."

He shook his head. "I need Neal's expertise."

"And that means Peter will decide he needs to be involved, too." Elizabeth put down her drink. "What is it you need from them?"

"I don't have time to explain," Mozzie insisted.

"At least tell me it isn't dangerous," she pleaded.

"The sooner they help me, the less risk there is," Mozzie said, which wasn't as soothing as she would have liked.

Noelle, however, used her most soothing, psychologist's voice. "You can tell us about the risk," she told him. "It won't take long. We want to understand, so we can help you."

Mozzie seemed only a little less agitated. "We need to stop someone from stealing a treasure and destroying it."

"You want them to take steps to prevent a crime?" Noelle asked.

"Yes!" Mozzie looked over his shoulder toward the exit. "Before it's too late."

Elizabeth was a bit surprised at first to hear that Mozzie objected to the theft, but destruction of something valuable was another matter. That must be the part that bothered him. "The bachelor party is at –"

Betty Burke, who with the other two grandmothers was currently getting a facial, sat up and removed the cucumber slices that were over her eyes. "Wait!" she ordered in a commanding voice Elizabeth rarely heard from her sweet mother-in-law. "Three hours from now we have a dinner reservation." She named the restaurant. "If we tell you where to find our sons and husbands, I expect them to meet us there unharmed and on time. If for any reason they can't join us, you will promise to be there to explain why."

"I don't know if…" Mozzie trailed off under Betty's stern glare.

"Promise," she insisted. "Or no one tells you where they are."

"I… I promise," Mozzie muttered.

"Fine. Elizabeth?"

Elizabeth named the sports bar where the men were spending the afternoon, and Mozzie scurried out.

Betty smiled smugly. "I may be retired, but I still can pull out my teacher's voice when I need it. The secret is not to overuse it, so it keeps its power."

Elizabeth giggled. "I'm sure the green scrub on your face helped. Mozzie's fascinated with science fiction and aliens."

Betty raised a hand to her face and looked across the room at a mirror. "Oh, my. I didn't realize it dried to such a… a… an alien green." She laughed. "Who was that?"

"Mozzie's a friend of Neal's. He's…" How did you describe Mozzie to the uninitiated? "He's an expert in many things, not all of them legal."

"How did he know where to find us?" Noelle asked.

"He introduced me to a friend who grew up in Hawaii, someone who helped me with local resources for planning your wedding. Billy runs a Hawaii-themed store in New York now, but has a large family here, and he recommended this spa. I think it belongs to a sister-in-law. Billy knew when we were going to be here, and he could have told Mozzie."

"Mozzie," said Irene. "Such an interesting name. It sounds a little like Oz, but he can't be the wizard. We already assigned that role to Joe. What do you think, Dorothy?" she asked her daughter. "Is he part of our journey as you prepare to marry the wizard?"

"A munchkin, perhaps?" Noelle mused. "Warning us about the wicked witch who would steal and destroy a treasure?"

"I suppose that means he's about to send our scarecrow and lion down the yellow brick road," Elizabeth said, remembering that Neal and Henry had identified with those characters.

"I wish I'd known," Angela complained. "I want to go with them."

"You'd have to be the heartless tin man," her grandmother warned.

"That's okay. I haven't had a boyfriend in ages. My heart's probably all rusted."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The Burke, Caffrey and Winslow men had been playing poker for an hour and a half. At first Edmund, Peter and Henry played at one table while Graham, Luke and Neal played at another, and Joe watched and egged them on. Then Joe joined the winners from both tables for the final round.

When they first arrived at the sports bar, Joe had mentioned that he didn't have a best man. The wedding would be small and simple, with no groomsmen or bridesmaids. "That means no one's been designated to give the toast at the reception. I think the winner of today's tournament should get that honor."

"What happens if you win?" Peter had asked.

" _When_ I win, you mean." Joe laughed. "I can pick whoever I want to make the toast."

The bar had been recommended by their hotel's concierge as a place that had facilities for poker, and it was excellent. The tables were designed specifically for card games, and they'd been given fresh decks of cards. With such competitive players, the games had been intense, and other patrons of the bar had gathered around to watch.

For all the intensity, Henry had seemed completely relaxed, chatting about his involvement with the Winston-Winslow facial recognition software project. It was so interesting, Peter soon realized, that it could make you lose track of the game, and he fought back with a description of going undercover at Azuma bank earlier that month. He mentioned that he'd spun stories for a bank executive about a troublesome son he'd decided to call Henry, and that surprised his opponents into laughter as he relished in repeating some of the complaints he'd made about his fictitious son. He did hold back on mentioning that Neal had been injured and held hostage at the end of that case. Henry had always been protective of Neal, and learning they were actually brothers would probably turn up the dial on the protectiveness for a while.

Edmund had countered with a story about returning to Columbia for a class reunion when Henry was a child, and admitted he'd made the mistake of taking the little boy down into the tunnel system with him. "I thought he'd like it," Edmund said, "but I didn't count on his addiction to hide-and-seek. I turned my back for a moment to get my bearings and the boy decided that was an invitation to hide. Scared the daylights out of me when I couldn't find him, and I worried he might have wandered into the tunnels that are supposed to be off limits. Finally I resorted to singing a children's song I knew he loved, and sure enough, he couldn't resist joining in the chorus. I followed his voice and brought him back above ground as soon as I found him. I swear I was afraid to let go of him for the next couple of hours." Henry's grin made it clear he hadn't been nearly as frightened as his grandfather.

And now, many hands of poker later, Joe had just lost all of his chips on a failed attempt to bluff the two remaining players: Neal and Henry. They were so evenly matched that Peter wondered if they would have to take a break for dinner and then finish up the game at the hotel.

Neal was about to place his bet when someone ran into the bar shouting his name. Peter did a double take. Wasn't Mozzie supposed to be on another island with the owner of the Aloha Emporium?

Laying his cards face down on the table, Neal asked, "Mozz, what are you doing here?"

Mozzie came to stop beside the table. "It's a crime against humanity, against nature itself. We have to stop it! Billy is waiting for us. Come with me."

Gesturing at the pile of poker chips at his side, Neal protested, "I'm in the middle of something here."

Peter stood up. "If we're talking about a crime, I should go. I can take Billy's statement and refer him to someone local."

"No, no," Mozzie insisted. "We're talking about art, jewels and history, all about to be destroyed by a philistine with no appreciation for their value. I need Neal."

Peter glanced at Neal, who reluctantly nodded. "Sounds like my kind of case," Neal said. He pushed his chair away from the table, and several members of their group took a sharp breath. One of the rules they'd laid out at the beginning was that leaving the table during a hand meant you forfeited. If Neal stood up, Henry would automatically be named the champion. Looking across the table Neal said, "It's best this way. I don't want to do permanent damage to your ego by beating you." Neal stood up and as Henry started to protest that there was no way anyone could beat him, he turned to face Joe. "Sorry about bailing out on your bachelor party."

"I take it you're going, too?" Joe asked Peter.

"Yeah, I think I should." Peter shrugged. "Not what I had in mind when I said I'd organize the bachelor party. Sorry about that."

"I think I know how you can make it up to me. It's tough to admit I could be in awe of my younger brother, but I've always wondered what it was like to be an FBI agent working a case. Take me along for this, and I'll call it the perfect way to top off the party."

Henry stood up. "Okay, let's get going."

"What?" Peter said. "I haven't agreed to Joe going along, and now you think you're invited, too?"

"Well, yeah. The FBI and Win-Win are supposed to be working together now, right? And more importantly, if this case is a continuation of the bachelor party, then obviously we're all invited."

"I'm with Joe on this," said Luke. "Always wanted to see my son on a case."

"As a member of the Win-Win board of directors, I insist on observing," added Graham.

"Not often I get to watch either of my grandsons at work, much less both of them," said Edmund. "Count me in."

Neal grinned at Peter. "I won't tell Hughes if you don't."

Peter followed them out of the bar as half of them piled into Billy's car and they hailed a cab to hold everyone else. Turning a case into a bachelor party. This was insane, but that was probably okay because Mozzie was insane and any case he brought to them was automatically suspect. Nevertheless, Neal had better keep that promise not to tell Hughes. In fact, Peter spent the first few minutes of the car ride warning Neal not to mention this to anyone back at the office.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Mozzie and Billy Feng took them to an office in an industrial complex, where Billy introduced them to his brother-in-law. Akoni explained that he owned a business that purchased pearls deemed not suitable for jewelry; they ground the pearls down for use in makeup. "Mostly we sell to cosmetic companies, but some people believe pearl powder has medicinal uses. Occasionally a doctor or individual will contact me to purchase the powder. When this gentleman first contacted me, that's what he said he wanted. I sold him a few ounces of pearl powder a month ago. Last week he returned, saying he was pleased with the quality of the powder."

"He wanted to buy more?" Peter asked.

"Yes, but this time he said he would supply the pearls to be used. He asked for a tour of our facilities, and wanted assurances that we could clean our tools so that no other pearl dust would be mixed with the powder from his pearls." Akoni spread his hands. "It was eccentric, but that didn't worry me."

"Not at first, but you're worried now," Neal commented.

"Yes. At first he asked for assurances of privacy, and I assumed that was because of his…" Akoni cleared his throat. "He made it clear he believed that pearl powder could be used in a remedy for, um… That is, he intended to use it in a product to um…"

"Viagra," Mozzie said. "This cretin thinks he can use ground up pearls to make a drug superior to Viagra. Got it?"

"Yeah," said Peter. He avoided looking at Joe, who was grinning ear-to-ear. Of all the cases to get for his brother's bachelor party, it would have to be this one. It was almost overwhelmingly tempting to joke that he'd like to buy some of that pearl powder as a wedding gift. Keeping his expression stern was taking all his willpower.

"You think he had another reason for wanting privacy?" Neal asked.

Akoni nodded. "He mentioned that the pearls he supplied would be very old. Family heirlooms, I assumed. I was dismayed, but thought they were probably inferior specimens. I told myself that if they looked valuable, I would advise him to have them appraised, first. In fact, last night I asked my niece Ulani if she could be here when he returns with the jewels next week. She has a jewelry store that specializes in pearls, and even goes diving for pearls in Tahiti a couple of times a year. When I shared what my client had told me about the number, size, color and age of the pearls, she seemed worried. This morning she spoke to a friend at the Honolulu Art Museum and told me her fears were confirmed."

When Akoni seemed reluctant to continue, Mozzie broke in impatiently with, "An exhibit of famous pearl jewelry will open on Friday. It's called 'Pearls for Lovers' and each piece of jewelry has a history of being owned or worn by famous lovers. Casanova. Rudy Valentino. The list goes on. Someone plans to steal those jewels and destroy them. You have to stop him!"

"Do you think your client plans to steal the jewels himself?" Peter asked.

"No. He's an old man. I can't imagine him as a cat burglar. But he's obviously wealthy."

"He hired someone to steal the pearls," Neal concluded.

"What's the name of your client?" Henry asked.

Akoni grimaced. "He paid in cash last time, and I didn't ask to see ID. He called himself Wang Wei. It's almost a Chinese equivalent of John Smith. I'd be very surprised if that's his real name."

"He was here a week ago." Peter looked around. "Is there anything he touched that would still have his fingerprints on it?"

"Probably not. He didn't touch anything that my employees haven't handled a dozen times since." Akoni gestured up at his security camera. "But I still have him on film."

"That's a start," Peter said. "Get me that footage, and I'll take it to the local office of the Bureau to see if they recognize him. Dad, Joe, you'll come with me. Henry, we'll get a copy for you and Graham. Take it to the museum and see if anyone there remembers him. He may have been hanging around, maybe asked for a sneak preview. Neal, take Edmund and Mozzie and check out the museum security. Let them know about the risk of a robbery. Try to get a look at the space where the exhibit will be, and find out if the jewels have already arrived." He checked his watch. They should have time to complete their assignments and still get to the restaurant in time for their reservations. "We'll reconvene after dinner, and decide what steps we can take to prevent the jewels from being stolen." Looking at his crew he added, "And one more thing. Let's not say anything about this to the girls, okay? I don't want them worrying that we'll get involved in something that will disrupt the wedding plans."

"Ahem." That came from Mozzie, and Peter sighed.

"They already know?"

Mozzie nodded. "From the looks of them, at the very least they want to be kept informed. You can expect an inquisition over dinner. And I think Angela will insist on joining you for the next phase."

"Yep," Henry agreed. "That's Bossy Pants for you."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Shortly before they left the museum, Neal signaled Henry that he needed to talk to Mozzie alone. Henry deftly pulled Edmund into a conversation with Graham about their suspect, and Neal led Mozzie around the corner to a quiet office. "We don't have much time. Tell me the rest."

"I don't know who the client is, but I know who he hired to steal the pearls."

"How? Who?"

"About a month ago, someone contacted me. Someone who knew I have ties to the Rainbow State asked if I'd be available to plan a jewel heist from a Honolulu museum. I said I was busy, but I knew someone with impeccable skills in the South Pacific." Mozzie looked up at Neal, his eyes full of regret. "I told him how to contact Adrian Tulane."

Neal leaned against the desk. Adrian Tulane was a legend in the cat burglar community. "You know Tulane?" He was surprised Mozzie had never mentioned the man before this. "When did that happen?"

Mozzie sat in one of the office chairs. "When you first joined the FBI, I didn't expect it to last."

Neal nodded.

"But it went on longer than I expected, and then you enrolled in grad school. I thought you wouldn't have time or interest in your old friends anymore."

"Mozzie," Neal said reproachfully.

"I thought we would naturally start to drift apart, so I took the first steps away. I took some jobs as the semester started. Some with Gordon Taylor, and then an opportunity came up with Tulane. You'd already warned me not to tell you details of any illegal activities, so you wouldn't be obligated to tell the suits. How was I to know you couldn't get by without me or my skills? This was all before Azathoth became obsessed with you."

"Can you find out where Tulane is staying?" Neal asked. "If we can tell him the Bureau is lying in wait for him, then he'll leave. The pearls don't get stolen; they don't get ground into powder; problem solved."

"I'll find out," Mozzie promised. "Do you want to be there when I talk to him?"

"Yeah," Neal said. He'd wanted to meet Tulane for years. The things he could learn… And on the drive back to the hotel he fretted about that. He worked for the FBI now. He shouldn't be impressed by criminals, shouldn't be a fan of their work. It had been over a year now. He was supposed to have changed.

What would Peter say if he knew?

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Peter insisted that they shouldn't talk about the case in a public place, and therefore they were forced to find other things to discuss over dinner. The poker game and spa experience were the main topics, but Neal had something else on his mind. He sat beside Angela and they discussed their strategy for discovering Henry's nickname. "It might be based on a trait he rarely exhibits anymore," Neal said.

"True. After all, I don't bounce around like a bunny these days."

Neal kindly refrained from pointing out that she did still have a tendency to bounce when excited. "And I certainly don't growl like a bear when I'm grumpy. I must have grown out of that as a kid." Edmund was sitting nearby and Neal asked him how old they'd been when their nicknames were decided.

"Must have been less than six months," Edmund told them.

"Who picked Henry's nickname?" Angela asked.

"Oh, that one was Irene's choice."

"What are you thinking?" Neal asked his cousin after the waiter refilled their water glasses.

Angela smiled in the direction of their grandmother. "She has a weakness for babies, and I noticed there's a path near the beach that's used by young families. The sand is packed down so strollers can be pushed without too much effort, and it leads to a shallow pool for little kids. If we take Dressa down there in the morning, she'll play with the kids. We could see what traits she comments on. Maybe she'll even say one of the kids reminds her of Henry."

"That could work," Neal agreed. "Let's give it a try."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After the meal they gathered in the suite Peter and Elizabeth shared with Peter's parents. "Joe, why don't you kick off the briefing?" Peter offered, thinking his brother would like to describe the case to the female contingent. "Tell us about the crime we want to prevent."

The laughter continued longer than he expected as Joe revealed the client's motivation for stealing the pearls. Peter hadn't realized the women had such a ribald sense of humor. Even his mother was telling off-color jokes. When he looked at her in shock she tsked him. "What do you think we talk about at bachelorette parties?"

He glanced helplessly at his nieces. Surely they were too young for this. "Joe, maybe Rosalind and Viola…"

"Uncle Peter," Viola said, rolling her eyes at him, "this is mild compared to what we've seen and heard in R-rated movies. You know that. We're not kids anymore."

He kind of wished they were still innocent kids, but he had to accept her logic. A man seeking an alternative to Viagra was hardly the most risqué thing that college students these days were exposed to. Rather than argue, he turned things over to Luke. "Dad, fill us in on what we learned at the Bureau."

It was interesting hearing a civilian's take on the case and what they'd learned so far. Luke said that the local FBI agents had recognized the client as a Chinese citizen who frequented Hawaii and other parts of the South Pacific. They didn't know his real name, but said he had a reputation for expensive, sometimes illegal tastes, and was suspected of bending or even breaking the law to get what he wanted. So far there'd never been a direct connection between the man's expressed desire for something, and the actual theft. The local agents believed he hired professionals who couldn't be traced back to him.

Nodding in approval at his father's summary, Peter noticed that both Joe and Luke were beaming with pride. He hadn't realized how excited they were about participating in a case. They hadn't been kidding when they said they were awed at having an FBI agent in the family. It gave Peter his own internal glow of pride. "Henry, what did you and Graham learn at the museum?

As representatives of investigation and security firm Win-Win, they were old hands at giving updates on cases, and their status was short and to the point. No one had recognized the client, and it seemed he was keeping his distance so he couldn't be tied to the theft when it happened. Edmund added that Neal had suggested upgrades to the museum's security. "The pearls themselves are interesting due to their history," Edmund mentioned, "but the jewelry isn't particularly valuable. The museum certainly didn't expect the collection to be targeted."

Peter was about to cover the next steps in the case when it occurred to him that Neal hadn't said a word. In fact, the kid seemed to be reading texts on his cell phone. "Neal, anything to add?"

He looked up. "Yeah. I'm getting an update from Mozz. From what we know of the client, he'd spare no expense. He'd spring for a top-notch thief who has some familiarity with Hawaii and experience with museums and their security. Adrian Tulane is at the top of our list."

"I don't recognize that name," Peter said.

"That's because he hasn't done any jobs on the East Coast yet. He's Australian, and his forays into the U.S. have been limited to Hawaii and the West Coast. The local agents probably know of him, and Interpol would. He's made a big splash in Europe."

"How certain are you that Tulane took the job?"

"I'm positive. Mozzie contacted him while we were eating. Tulane already has a flight booked to Honolulu. He arrives right after New Year's. He was also here a week ago, probably scoping out the museum's security."

"Why not strike before the exhibit opens?" Peter wondered. "You're always saying that this kind of stuff is least secure in transit or in storage."

"I'm sure that would have been his preference, but what I'm hearing is that Tulane had other commitments he has to work around." He looked down at his phone again and scrolled through more messages. "Mozzie's setting up a meet. We'll talk with Tulane shortly after he gets here."

"We are?" repeated Peter.

"No, not _us_ ," Neal said. "Tulane would make you as a Fed in a minute. He knows Mozzie, so that's my in."

Peter crossed his arms, and was aware that his frown was about to turn into a scowl. He really didn't want to have an argument about the case in front of their families, but as Neal's boss he was ready to put his foot down. He tried to be tactful. "What exactly do you think you're going to accomplish at this meet?"

Neal looked surprised. "Convince him that he shouldn't go through with the theft."

"And how does that lead to his arrest?"

"It doesn't," Neal said. "But if I do this right, the pearls will be safe from Tulane, he'll put out word that they're a bad risk so others won't try stealing them, and we'll get enough information to take down his client." He put his phone away. "Preventing a theft is more important than catching a thief in the act, right? That's what Jones said last New Year's when I tried to set up a sting while on a job."

That wasn't exactly what Jones had said, but Peter let it slide. It was true that the bigger win would be to identify and arrest the client. Tulane could be added to the FBI's wanted list; he wouldn't elude justice for long. "And how are you going to convince him to flip on his client?"

Neal shrugged nonchalantly. "I've got a week to figure that out. I'll take a look at the client's FBI file to look for ideas. Something will click."

"That _click_ had better happen before you meet with him," Peter warned. He didn't say that he'd put a stop to the meet altogether if Neal didn't have a clear plan heading into it. "And if I don't go along, you can be damn sure I'll be nearby, listening in." He could tell Neal wanted to protest, but was holding back due to the audience.

"We'll work out the details," was all Neal said.

 **Tuesday morning. December 28, 2004.**

When everyone was ready for breakfast, Angela led the way to a casual coffee shop on the beach. Neal skipped coffee this morning. A banana shake sounded like the perfect accompaniment to the muffin he ordered. They sat on a terrace that was right next to the children's pool and play area Angela had mentioned at dinner. Sure enough, Irene was captivated by the toddlers. It didn't take any effort at all to get her started comparing the little ones to her own children and grandchildren.

"Any conclusions?" Neal asked in an aside when they were done eating.

"I'd like to observe a little longer," Angela said. "How do you feel about some beach time?"

"I feel like I need to spend all day on the beach. With the poker game and the case, it seemed like I hardly got outside at all yesterday. That's got to be a crime here."

They picked up beach towels at one of the shacks staffed by the hotel along the beach, and settled near where the children were playing. Most of their group settled on towels or beach chairs, but Henry plopped down on the sand and started building a sand castle.

Noelle smiled. "I forgot we used to have a sandbox in the backyard. Henry loved it."

Neal sat beside him and studied the castle. "Sand Man?" he guessed.

Henry shook his head. "Who would call a kid Sand Man?"

A few children wandered over to help Henry with his project. Neal had noticed on previous occasions that both Henry and Irene were Pied Pipers. Children naturally gravitated toward them. Soon Irene was chatting with the little ones and their parents, while Angela observed. Henry welcomed the extra hands, and had the kids build extensions on his castle. He pretended to be taken by surprise when a moat was dug around him.

A glance toward the rest of the group showed that Peter was sitting in the shade of a beach umbrella. So far Neal had managed to avoid talking with Peter, but that couldn't last long. It was time to figure out what to say about the doubts that had been plaguing him recently.

"Still avoiding Peter?" asked Henry.

Of course Henry would notice. "I'll talk to him when I'm ready," Neal said. "At the moment I've got an idea that's a lot more original than a castle." He started piling up mounds of sand. When Joe's daughters asked if they could help, they piled up even more. "Sometimes I think of Peter as a polar bear," he told them as they carefully built up a solid base of sand for his creation. "He loves winter sports and snow. Look at him now, avoiding the sun. He's the inspiration for this sculpture."

People gathered around as Neal's project gained height. It took a careful mixture of sand and water from the ocean to achieve the solidity and smooth surface he wanted. When it was nearly three feet tall, Neal grabbed seashells to serve as buttons, eyes and a nose. "Perfect," he declared when he was finished.

"You built a snowman on the beach?" Peter asked. He'd wandered over a few minutes ago, lured out of the shade by Neal's work of art.

"I think technically he's a sandman."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

They stayed on the beach until it was time for lunch, and then stopped by one of the fountains between the beach and hotel where they could rinse off the sand and turn in their towels.

On the walk to the restaurant Neal and Angela trailed behind to discuss their findings, but this time Henry wouldn't give them any privacy. "Clever strategy," he said as he stepped between them. "What did you learn?"

Angela rolled her eyes. "You think I'm afraid to talk about our progress in front of you?"

"Maybe."

"Guess again. Dressa remarked on several kids who reminded her of you," Angela said.

"Noelle, too," Neal added. "You could tell by her expression when a kid reminded her of Henry."

"The kid in the navy blue trunks and all the freckles?" Angela asked.

"Yeah, both Dressa and Noelle reacted to him."

"Freckle Face?" Angela guessed.

"Nope," said Henry.

"He yelled and ran around a lot," Neal said. "Wild Man?"

"Not even close."

"The thing is," Angela added, "that Dressa seemed the most taken with him when his mom made him sit down so she could brush the sand off him and refresh his sunscreen. He absolutely could not hold still. He shrieked and giggled and wiggled…" She came to a stop, facing Henry. "Wiggle Worm?"

Henry's expression went blank a moment. Then he shook his head. "No. Definitely not."

"But it's close," Neal said. "Something about that one struck a chord."

"We got this," said Angela, giving Neal a high five.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After lunch, Angela insisted on going along with Neal to the FBI offices, where he would review the file on the man who'd commissioned the theft of the pearls. She said she deserved a chance to be involved, since she hadn't been able to go along yesterday. This visit had to be the safest, most boring part of the case, and neither Neal nor Peter objected. However, when they were in a conference room waiting for a local agent to bring them the file, Neal brought up the fact that she'd already been involved in a case and had visited the Manhattan White Collar office during the Masterson sting in August.

"Yeah, I guess it's obvious I have an ulterior motive, huh?" The usually brash, bossy, self-assured girl looked shyly at Neal. "I hoped maybe on this trip you'd get used to me hanging around. I mean, we've really only spent time together at birthday parties and when we were Urban Legend. And now I'm moving to New York and going to Columbia and that's all great and exciting, but I don't know anyone. I haven't felt so nervous since I started my freshman year at UW. And this is scarier. I mean, most of the other students in the music program started in the fall and already know each other. And my mom grew up in Seattle so I've got grandparents and Farraday cousins there so it wasn't as lonely, and…" She trailed off, seeming to gather her thoughts. "You remind me of Henry so much that sometimes it feels like we've known each other forever, but you probably don't feel that way, and… And I was hoping maybe we could hang out sometimes in New York," she said in a rush. "If that's okay."

"Yeah." Neal grinned at the big-brother feeling that was bubbling up inside him. "Yeah, that's definitely going to be okay."

Angela was about to say something in return but the agent arrived with the file. Actually, it was multiple files. Peter took half and gave the rest to Neal, and they started reading through them. Angela looked over Neal's shoulder until Peter said, "You're into planes, too, right? Like your mom."

She nodded. "I got a pilot's license before I got my driver's license."

"Take a look at these." Peter slid some papers toward her. As she read through the documents, he looked through the remainder of his files and pulled out other papers he put into a smaller stack. He did the same with Neal's files, and then went back to his own methodical review of the files.

Angela grabbed the pad of paper and pen that had been lying on the conference table and started making notes. She checked the documents again, reviewed her notes, and then looked at Peter.

"Find something?" he asked. "Flight logs aren't exactly my preferred reading material. It looked like the local agents have identified the pilots he normally uses, and are tracking their flights. But since they don't name their passengers, I can't tell if there's anything useful here."

"These records indicate he's been coming here about once a month for the last eight months. There are two different pilots, but many different planes. All the same manufacturer and model, but different ID numbers. It looks like either he owns a fleet of planes, or the pilots have access to a fleet."

"Maybe the manufacturer could tell us who bought them. A big purchase like that might stand out," Peter guessed.

"Assuming they're still with the original owner," Angela cautioned. "These planes are workhorses known for reliability, and they're in high demand in the resale market. They aren't manufactured anymore, not since nearly 20 years ago."

"A workhorse doesn't sound like this guy's style," Neal said. "I'd have thought he'd go with something more upscale."

She nodded. "Yeah, these aren't planes I associate with luxury. What's really odd is that sometimes he arrives and leaves on different planes. The pilot brings him in, leaves a few days later with other passengers, and then returns to pick him up in another plane."

"The pilots are taking other business on their downtime?" Peter suggested. "That makes me think they belong to a charter company rather than working for him."

"Could be."

"You said you don't associate these planes with luxury," Neal said. "What do you associate them with?"

"Stuntmen. If you go to an airshow where the pilots are civilians instead of military, you'll see these planes. They can handle moves like barrel rolls without stalling."

Peter thanked her. "I'm not sure what to make of it, but it's an interesting angle. The pilots might be stuntmen or work for a company that does that kind of work."

They wrapped up their review of the files soon after that. While they waited for the elevator, Neal asked if Peter had any ideas about Henry's nickname. They told him what they'd guessed so far. Peter shook his head, "Nothing comes to mind, but you might run it past my mother. In all her years of teaching elementary school, she probably heard tons of nicknames."

The bell dinged to indicate the arrival of the elevator, and they stepped inside. There was no one else with them and Angela said, "Speaking of mothers, I have a very nosy question that you don't have to answer." She looked up at Neal. "Given what you told us at Christmas, do you think someday you'll call Aunt Noelle _Mom_?"

"It's crossed my mind," Neal admitted, "but it doesn't feel natural. Maybe it would be if I said it all the time, but that goes counter to all our efforts to make it seem like I'm a distant Caffrey cousin. I need to keep that distance publicly so my dad's enemies don't figure out I was born Neal Bennett, and if privately I call her Mom, the risk of slipping up in public is higher." The elevator doors opened in the lobby. No one was around, so Neal added, "The big irony here is that for years Henry and I posed as brothers. Now that we know it's the truth, I have to deny it. That's probably the most frustrating part for me. This vacation is kind of a grace period, but when we get home I have to call him my cousin and think of him that way."

"I don't remember your father," Angela said, "but I like him less and less for adding this complication to our lives." Before they left the lobby, Angela looked around and said, "Isn't it odd, being in an office building in Honolulu? I always picture Hawaii as beaches and tourists, but of course people work and live here like any other city."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Neal found a moment alone, he called Mozzie with the information about the airplanes. A pilot himself, Mozzie found it fascinating. "Do you remember the names of the pilots?" he asked. When Neal told him, he said he'd do some research of his own. "I have resources and contacts the suits can't use," Mozzie said.

"Let me know if you learn anything useful," Neal requested.

"All knowledge is useful, if only one knows how to apply it," was the answer.

Neal was chuckling as he left his hotel room, and nearly ran into Peter, who'd been waiting for him in the hall. "Practicing your tailing skills?" Neal joked. It was Tuesday after all. Usually on Tuesdays he led a member of the White Collar team on a training exercise they called Tuesday Tails. As their manager, Peter often had meetings over the lunch hour and therefore it was rare that he was able to participate.

"Seems like I have to. It's been nearly impossible to get a moment to talk. It's almost like you're avoiding me."

"Why would I avoid you?" Neal asked, walking toward the elevator.

"Good question. And when you deflect like that, it makes me even more suspicious."

"That's half the fun."

"I wish I could believe that's all it is. It would be a relief to know you're just yanking my chain, but I don't think that's it. Something's been bothering you since before we left New York. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

Neal nodded as he reached for the elevator call button, but then changed his mind and didn't press it. "It's tied into the fact that it's been a year since I went to work for you. People keep reminding me that a year has gone by. A year since you recruited me, a year since I met June and Byron and moved into the loft. Almost a year since my first undercover assignment and since Noelle called your cell phone looking for Henry." They both smiled at the memory of how much she had terrified them. "Add on the fact that New Year's is approaching and everyone's reflecting on the last year. It's like there's this pressure right now. I feel like… Like there's something that should have happened, something important I should have done and it's… Well, it's bothering me."

Peter studied him. "Can't you tell me what that something is?"

"No. Not yet."

"I wish I could convince you that talking to someone would help you work through whatever it is. I'd like to know about it, but you've got a lot of people here who'd be willing to hear you out. Henry, Noelle –"

Neal shook his head. "No. I don't want to bother her. She should be focused on her wedding."

"I get that. And I suppose you're worried that Henry or anyone else you tell might want to share whatever it is with her for her insight. But will you promise to talk to someone after the wedding? If not me, then someone else you trust."

Neal finally pressed the call button. "Before we leave for New York," he said.

"Okay. I won't pressure you. Just tell me when you've talked to someone about it, so I can take one item off my list."

"Something else worrying you?"

"Yeah, this whole thing with Tulane. Do you really think it's wise for you to meet with…?" He trailed off when the elevator doors slid open. There were already people inside, and that meant he shouldn't talk about the case.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The members of Local Devastation had arrived in Hawaii, and when they contacted Neal to schedule time to rehearse, he had invited them to join the Burke-Caffrey-Winslow family for dinner. Their group was so large the restaurant placed them in a private terrace, where they ate under the stars.

Peter had met Trevor Merchant, the group's drummer, over the summer when Trevor joined Urban Legend for a concert in Manhattan. He loved being the center of attention and had plenty of stories to share to keep everyone entertained. That would have been more than enough to make it a memorable evening, but somewhat to Peter's consternation, guitarist Theo Guy took over the storytelling. Theo thanked Peter profusely for stopping Masterson Music's extortion scheme, which had threatened the recording studio he'd opened after retiring from his career as a rock musician. Peter's parents, brother and nieces were all fascinated by the story, and Neal helped fill in the blanks to make Peter sound like some kind of conquering hero. Any more praise and he was going to start blushing.

And then dessert arrived, and keyboardist/composer turned music professor Michael Darling started telling a story, with the help of his wife Tara. They described a time that Michael had received threatening messages and how he nearly left his wife and daughter in order to protect them because he didn't think anyone in law enforcement would take the threats seriously. "When Neal dropped in on a choir practice out of the blue and told me he had connections in the FBI, I was convinced it was a Christmas miracle," Michael said.

"We called Neal our Christmas angel," Tara added, "like Clarence in 'It's a Wonderful Life.' If he hadn't convinced Peter to investigate, I hate to think what would have happened. After Peter told us what they'd discovered…" She leaned against her husband and smiled mistily. "It saved our marriage."

Now Peter was certain he was blushing. His family looked so impressed, he didn't have the heart to tell them that the "case" he'd taken on for the Darlings had barely been a case at all. In normal circumstances he wouldn't have agreed to work it, but it had been the first case Neal had brought to the FBI, and it had seemed important to keep the kid engaged and learning FBI procedures while they worked out the details for officially granting him immunity and hiring him. El had heard Peter's much more plainspoken version of the story a year ago, but she clearly found Tara's version captivating. She smiled at Tara and then looked up at Peter in approval. "Our hero. Solving cases and saving marriages."

"It wasn't like that." He felt he had to protest. "A little deductive reasoning and pulling in the IT department to analyze the emails after Neal saw the pattern. It's the job."

"Oh, I think it's much more heroic than you realize."

"Neal's the one with the romantic streak and white knight tendencies. I just get dragged along." But Peter gave up because he could tell El was not going to budge from her belief that he was a hero.

Fortunately lead singer Ty Merchant didn't have any embarrassing stories to add, and the meal wrapped up as the Darlings' four-year-old daughter fell asleep. Neal and Henry had been amusing her with some sleight-of-hand, but she'd been too exhausted to stay awake any longer.

Back up in the suite with El that evening Peter said, "Neal's good with kids."

"It certainly seems so," she agreed. "But I take it from your tone there's something more behind this announcement."

"I've been trying to puzzle out what's been bothering him recently. He won't say exactly what it is, but today he did admit it's tied to the anniversary of my recruiting him."

"That coincides with the anniversary of the case with the Darlings," El added. "But he didn't seem uncomfortable or antsy around them."

"No, he seemed at ease, like they were distracting him from whatever it is." Peter sat down on the bed. "I keep asking myself if it's my fault."

El sat beside him. "Why would you think that?"

"I've been pushing him all year. Fit in at the Bureau. Make friends. Connect with his family. Enroll in Columbia. Meet a nice girl. Put down roots."

"You wanted to counter his flight instinct. You helped him see he has a home that has a pull at least as strong as his need to escape when things go wrong. That stability has been good for him."

"But it's also alien to him. If I pushed him too far, too fast, would it put him on edge? Maybe he's worried where I'll push him next? Maybe he'll feel tied down and react against that by wanting to escape? I wonder if at the end of this vacation he'll decide he can't face going back to all of the ties and obligations he has in New York."

El looked sad. "Do you really think he feels that way?"

"I don't know, hon. He can be hard to read. But I'm wondering, if he decides to quit the job and says goodbye at the end of this trip, should I try to change his mind? Part of me says I should respect his decision if that's what he wants, but another part says he's our friend and needs to hear how much we'd miss him."

"He puts a lot of value in his relationship with you and your opinion of him." El thought for a minute. "What I think is that if he really wants to go, he'll leave a note and slip away. If he actually talks to you, and says goodbye in person, it means that he's giving you the chance to change his mind."

Peter wasn't a music fanatic the way the Caffreys were, but for the next several days a pop tune kept running through his head: "Change Your Mind" by the Killers.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal thought singer Ty Merchant had been unusually quiet during dinner, and the next day he learned why. Ty was recovering from strep throat.

"He's not contagious anymore," Ty's brother-in-law Michael Darling assured Neal, Henry and Angela. "We wouldn't have let him fly if we thought he'd get others sick. It's just that his throat is still sore and he goes on tour soon for his latest solo album, so we want him to take it easy for the New Year's Eve performance. Back when we signed up to perform here, we were going to use the three of you as our backup singers, but now I'm wondering if you're up for a bigger role." He suggested that each cousin could sing a song with Ty. "You can carry the tune if he loses his voice for a couple of notes, and we could even have you alternate singing the lead on the verses. And this one," he pulled out the sheet music for one of the Grammy-winning songs he'd composed, "has a lot of falsetto in it. I've always wanted to hear it performed by a woman. Angela, if you think you could handle the lead vocals, we'd put you in the spotlight and I'd harmonize with you. That would give Ty a break in the middle of the concert."

Fortunately all three members of Urban Legend were fans of Local Devastation and knew their songs already. The rehearsals on the 29th and 30th went smoothly, and they were relaxed going into the performance New Year's Eve.

They met after an early lunch to check out the venue. They'd be performing on a low stage that had been constructed on the beach. A metal framework covered by tarps and threaded with vines supported cameras and most of the electrical equipment, and also would minimize some of the glare of the sun on the ocean. Even though the performance would be aired live late at night in New York, it would be mid-afternoon in Hawaii.

Ninety minutes before the performance, Trevor threw a curveball at them. "That last number is still popular at dance clubs. We should use that. The stage isn't more than a foot high. We'll jump off at the start of the last verse, and dance through the crowd. They'll join in, and it'll be awesome television."

He was right, but the lack of preparation worried some of the others. "If we leave the stage, it means leaving the instruments. We'll be singing a capella," Michael pointed out. "I don't know if the microphones they've rigged up will carry our voices if we wander too far away. They're expecting us to stay on stage, and the range is probably limited."

"We get the crowd to sing along," Trevor said. "Plenty of voices. The mikes'll pick that up. It'll be great."

"It sounds great for the fans, but I'm not much of a dancer," said Theo. "You know I always avoided choreography when we went on tour."

"You'd have to keep it simple," Henry agreed. "If the audience doesn't know what's coming, they need something they can pick up right away."

"What if we planted some dancers in the audience?" Neal suggested. "It would look good if Tara joins her husband. I'm sure Joe's daughters would be willing to fall in step with us, if we tell them what to expect."

"The song reminds me of 'Footloose,'" Angela added. "There's a dance number at the end of the movie to that song. I remember the cast moving forward in a group at the very end, like this." She demonstrated the steps. "We don't have to add any fancy stuff. Just keep moving forward, maybe going around the stage so we don't get too far from the sound equipment." She glanced toward the stage. Sound technicians were currently testing the audio. "I'll find out if they can pick up our voices when we're offstage."

"That's it. We've got a plan." Trevor loped off toward a beachside bar for a drink to celebrate.

"Why can't he ever have these brainstorms a day in advance? Twenty-four hours to prepare. Is that too much to ask?" Theo asked.

Ty slapped him on the back. "It's just one performance. You'll get through it."

"C'mon," said Neal to Theo. "I see Rosalind and Viola. You can practice with us."

The girls were thrilled at the idea, and happily practiced the steps with Neal, Henry and Theo. Angela joined in a few minutes later, and then Irene wandered over. She stepped between Rosalind and Viola, taking their hands. "Like this," she said, showing them how to put a little more sway in their steps. Before becoming a movie star, she'd been in the chorus line for several musicals, and she still loved dancing.

Noelle joined in, pulling Joe along with her in a cha-cha. He kept the steps basic, but she swirled around him, laughing. Elizabeth did the same with Peter, and Michael Darling joined in with his wife and daughter. Loving a crowd, Trevor Merchant ran into the middle and danced enthusiastically, even if the steps were rough. Edmund came in to twirl a laughing Irene around. And the Pied Piper effect was in full force. Kids on the beach came to see what was happening and followed along. The older ones picked up the steps, and the younger ones simply jumped around merrily. A camera crew was already in place. They wanted to film clips of the bands setting up, to show as promos for the upcoming concert. They captured a few moments of the impromptu dance and the network showed it many times throughout the day. Noelle asked them for a copy of the footage, laying on the charm and explaining she was there for her wedding. The crew agreed to send her a copy, and she told Neal it would become a popular part of future holidays, showing the Burkes and Caffreys indulging in pure, madcap fun. "I feel like our families have truly bonded now," she said. She kissed his cheek. "May I have the pleasure of a dance with you at my wedding reception?"

"I'd be honored," Neal said. Then he looked up and saw Joe approaching. "That is, if the groom is willing to let you dance with anyone else."

"I've got two left feet," said Joe. "I'll be happy to let someone else take the limelight on the dance floor occasionally. Meanwhile, can I buy you a drink, Neal? That hut over there is supposed to have the best shakes and smoothies on the island."

"Sure." Neal was surprised that Noelle didn't follow. He quickly concluded that they'd set this up so Joe could talk to him alone. After getting two pineapple-banana smoothies, they walked out toward the ocean. Even though there were many people on the beach, the sound of the surf muted their voices and gave them a measure of privacy. "There's something you want to talk about?"

Joe nodded, his expression serious and sincere. "I understand the repercussions of what your father did, and the dangers you face. I know that means I can't go around telling people you're my stepson. Noelle's been saying that this vacation is like an escape to Oz, so before we head back to Kansas, I wanted a chance to say that I'm honored to have you as part of the Burke family. I'm sure you know how much Noelle loves you, and how proud she is of you."

"Yeah, I know."

"I also know that Peter feels a lot like she does. He's proud of you. He's called me several times for advice about being a father figure, especially over the summer. You think of him as a dad sometimes, and me marrying Noelle… What I'm trying to say is, I don't see that as changing things. Peter's still going to be like a dad to you, and that's fine with me. I'm glad, actually. It's good to know Peter's there in New York to keep an eye on you and to help you out if you need advice." Joe grinned. "But if the reason you need advice is because Peter's driving you nuts, I'm here for you. We can commiserate."

Neal grinned back. Then he asked, "Did you have a similar talk with Henry?"

"The I'm-not-trying-to-replace-your-dad speech? I accepted Noelle's help with that one. We talked to Henry before we came out here. It wasn't anything he didn't already know, but it still felt right to say it. There's something about saying things out loud, saying it to someone else… I'm not sure what term the psychologists in the family would use, but I'd say it's powerful. It makes things real."

"That sounds scary," said Neal.

"You'd think so, but when something's real, you can deal with it. It's the terrors of the imagination that are hard to fight, because they don't have a shape. They keep changing on you."

"You're sure you didn't get a degree in psychology?" Neal asked.

"I raised two smart, strong young women. As a parent you pick up a lot as you go." He gestured toward the hotel. "Ready to head back?"

"Yeah." They walked up the slope and Neal returned to his role as a singer and guitarist for Urban Legend.

But in free moments, his mind kept returning to what Joe had said. Maybe, if he told Peter what was troubling him, it wouldn't seem as bad as he feared.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

The performance went off smoothly, and dancing into the crowd worked out, even if it didn't have the same joyful spontaneity as their practice session. And Tara wasn't there. The Darlings' little girl was running a fever, and Tara stayed with her in the hotel room.

There were New Year's Eve parties scheduled on the beach well into the night, but the grandparents in the group wanted something a little quieter. Coming off of a raucous rock performance, even the youngest generation was satisfied with a plan to chill out. Graham and Julia Winslow had rented a yacht, and the families joined them on board for a luxurious picnic dinner. Then they relaxed under the stars and watched the fireworks.

"I always think the best view of fireworks is on the water," Graham said. "You get the color in the sky, and the reflection on the ocean."

Neal agreed. "Fourth of July on your sailboat was amazing." The fireworks in the sky that summer had been impressive, and sparring with Sara Ellis had been fun. For a while he'd thought there was a spark between them, but it was obvious she hadn't agreed because she'd started dating sighin' Bryan soon afterward. He put those thoughts aside. Noelle had said New Year's should be for looking forward to the future. Tomorrow was Joe and Noelle's wedding. The day after that he'd talk Adrian Tulane out of stealing the pearls. Then he'd hang out on the beach and enjoy the tropical warmth.

He cleared his throat and reached into the cooler for a bottle of water. Out of practice singing that much, he told himself, even if it was a short performance compared to what they used to do. Maybe the smoke from the fireworks had drifted in their direction?

The water did the trick, and he turned his attention to annoying Henry. "You're really going to accept the title of poker champion by default because I was called away by work?"

"I'm rather confused by the fact that a poker tournament was held with only half of our group," Julia Winslow said. "Why don't the women have a game now, and the top two women can play the top two men for the championship?"

Relaxed from the busy day, a great meal, and few glasses of champagne, everyone agreed and Julia produced cards and chips. It wasn't until after she handily beat them all that Neal remembered what he'd been told that summer: Julia had been the one who taught Henry and his father how to play.

 _A/N: Happy New Year, and thanks for reading! Many, many thanks to Silbrith for editing the first two chapters over the holidays. We had a blast trying to decide on Henry's nickname, and I thought I'd share the fun with you by supplying some of our alternatives as guesses ahead of the reveal. Adrian Tulane was in the episode "Free Fall" and cornwankies on AO3 had requested using him in story._

 _The Caffrey Album Pinterest board is now up, showing us Neal's Christmas present. The Caffrey Aloha board has been updated for this chapter. I had issues posting the final dance from the 1984 version of Footloose, so I used the 2011 version instead. The final seconds are very similar in both, and both versions of the dance have the kind of buoyant joy I wanted to convey._

 _I've been posting on Fridays because of the holidays, but alas I need to work next Friday. Therefore I'll post the third chapter on January 9, which is a Saturday. That one will cover the wedding, wrapping up the case, talking to Peter about what's bothering Neal, and a few surprises._

 _For those of you on , there's an issue on the site that's preventing me from responding to reviews. As soon as they resolve the issue, I'll answer your questions and let you know how very much I appreciate your comments._


	3. There's No Place Like Home

Chapter 3: There's No Place Like Home

 _A/N: When I was posting Caffrey Disclosure I received a request for a warning after one specific chapter. I don't want to spoil what's ahead, but the Disclosure chapter had a brief slashy misunderstanding in honor of the many slash fans who've been following this AU, in addition to a moment of gay-bashing by a villain and a conversation about gay marriage. Some of those elements will be revisited in one scene here. If those are things that make you very uncomfortable, then when Neal goes to the yacht, you may wish to skip to the next scene._

 **Saturday afternoon. January 1, 2005.**

Noelle Caffrey Winslow and Joe Burke were married in a small chapel in Waikiki. Noelle wore what El described as a "creamy white silk sheath," and Joe wore a tux. All the male guests were in tuxedos, too. Peter had to admit he'd done his share of complaining when it came to the dratted bow tie. But while he wasn't sighing over the ceremony like most of the women in attendance, he could acknowledge that Joe and Noelle looked supremely happy. That, in addition to the gleam in El's eyes when she looked at Peter in the tux, made the formalwear worthwhile.

After the wedding they walked to a walled garden. They could hear the surf, but had a measure of privacy from hotel guests. A white, tent-like covering overhead protected them when a shower rolled onshore. As the event planner, El had arranged a light dinner with guava chiffon pie for dessert. And of course there was champagne.

The compromise reached last night was that Julia was named the poker champion, but Henry retained the right to make the toast at the reception. A waiter brought a bottle of champagne and handed it to Neal. There'd been a flat wooden box next to Neal that Peter had assumed was a gift for Joe and Noelle, but Neal now opened it to remove a short sword. He stood and said, "When I mentioned to my fencing team's captain that I was going to a wedding, he suggested I open the champagne for you with a technique called sabrage. I've been practicing for a month, because I wanted to get this right." He faced away from the guests, and with a single sweep of the blade removed the top portion of the bottle. He turned the bottle as the champagne bubbled over, to remove any shards of glass, and then he filled the glasses.

Henry raised his glass and faced the newly married couple. "Mom and Joe first met at the Burke family cabin early last year, and I was there to see Joe beg for Mom's phone number." Guests chuckled. "I was happy for Mom then, and I was happy when I learned they were engaged." Looking at Joe's daughters he said, "Like many kids of divorced parents, I worried that my mom wasn't dating because she thought it would upset me. I felt guilty that she was alone." Rosalind and Viola nodded in understanding. "I was glad she found someone. Knowing Peter already, I figured Joe would be a good guy, but we used FBI and Win-Win resources to be sure." He grinned at Neal, who had found an excuse to link Joe to a case in order to justify an FBI background check. Again, people chuckled.

"I didn't know about that," El murmured to Peter.

"I learned about it after the fact," Peter replied. He hadn't been thrilled about it, but his second-in-command had made an argument for Neal deserving the peace of mind that came from knowing Joe wasn't the mess that Noelle's first husband had been.

"To be perfectly honest, I came here to support my mom, because I knew this would be a big deal for her. But I've already got two big families – the Caffreys and the Winslows. Sure, I wanted to get to know the Burke family better, but I had no intention of being more than casual acquaintances with most of you." He smiled ruefully at Luke and Betty and Joe's daughters. "Then over the last week you all crept under my defenses. I never would have believed there was anything missing in my families, but you've filled a hole I didn't even know was there. And so I stand here to say I'm honored to be related to the Burkes by marriage, and I'll strive to be worthy of the honor." He turned his attention back to Joe and Noelle. "I'm happy for you, and surprisingly happy for me, too. Thanks for bringing the Burkes and Caffreys and even the Winslows together." He raised his glass higher. "To our family! Welcome one and all."

"To family!" everyone else echoed.

Henry sat back down across from Peter and Elizabeth and grinned. "This means I can add Henry Burke to my list of aliases for Win-Win cases. Neal, you can make me an ID, right?"

"Baltimore driver's license?" Neal asked.

Henry considered it a moment. "Let's make it New York."

Not wanting his nieces to start asking Neal for fake IDs, Peter turned the conversation to other topics. "This is certainly different than last New Year's Day," he said to Henry during the meal. "For me 2004 started in a hospital in Connecticut when things went wrong on Neal's first undercover op. I was dealing with loopy Neal in the emergency room."

Henry nodded. "And that got the year off to an interesting start for me, too. I got a message from the hospital as his emergency contact. Neal had texted to say he was all right, but when I called his phone to double check, you answered. That would have been the first time I spoke with you."

"Up till then, I had my doubts whether you really existed. When I first met him, Neal was using _Henry Winslow_ as an alias, and I thought it was just another name he'd made up. He'd told a few stories about you, but he made them sound like a joke. At one point he called you a trickster god, like Coyote."

Henry preened and Neal rolled his eyes while saying, "I did _not_ call you a god. What I said is that you were the type of mischievous person who inspired those myths."

After the meal and about an hour of dancing, the wedding couple left for the airport, where they took a flight to Maui for their honeymoon. The guests went their own way for the remainder of the evening, and it was still rather early when El led Peter up to their room to let him know how much she appreciated his willingness to wear the tuxedo.

 **Sunday afternoon. January 2, 2005.**

Neal followed Mozzie into the condo in downtown Honolulu where Adrian Tulane was staying. The client had arranged the use of the space, which was rented out to a large Chinese conglomerate. The client was probably an executive with the firm, but they still hadn't been able to learn his name.

They sat on a massive purple sectional sofa, and Tulane asked, "Change your mind about taking the job, Mozzie?"

Mozz shook his head gravely. "No. I'm here to warn you. Your client made a misstep, and the FBI knows the pearls are being targeted. The museum is upgrading their security as we speak."

"So much for the plans I made when I scoped the place out last week. Thanks for the warning. I'll tell the client to wait for things to cool down and try again later."

"You need to rethink working for this client," Neal said. "He's keeping his identity a secret from the authorities by killing his accomplices."

Tulane didn't believe him at first, but Mozzie laid out the details he'd discovered. This client made all the travel arrangements. On completion of the job, if he had any worries about being connected to the crime, he would decide to stay on the island while his pilot flew his accomplice home. The pilot would ditch the plane over the ocean and parachute to safety. The plane and accomplice were never seen again. Mozzie named two well-known thieves and an assassin who had disappeared on flights from Honolulu that never made it to their final destination.

"The pilot's a wiry little fella," Tulane objected. "He couldn't overpower me. I'd take the parachute from him if he tried to jump. And Jeffers," he said, naming one of the thieves, "knows how to fly. Even if the pilot jumped ship, he'd've made it to land safely and called for help."

"They'll offer you a drink on the plane," Mozzie said. "In fact, to be safe, they'll offer you something on the drive to the airport. By the time the pilot jumps, you'll be asleep or at least too drugged to put up a fight."

"You know this for a fact?" Tulane asked. "Or is this one of your conspiracy theories?"

"We did the research," said Neal. "Found the planes and pilots he's been using, looked up the flight plans and saw the pattern. The planes took off but there's no record of them landing, and each time it followed a crime where the person most likely to have committed the crime has never been seen since. Rumors say they each made a big score and retired. But what are the odds of all of them making enough that they decide to give up the life, and then none of them being spotted again?"

"What's the deal with your friend here?" Tulane asked Mozzie, gesturing toward Neal. "Poster boy for New Year's Eve parties? His face has been plastered on the television the last few days, dancing on the beach and singing in a concert. A little high-profile for your style."

Neal resisted the impulse to glance at the watch he was wearing. They had borrowed it from the local FBI, and it was broadcasting the conversation to Peter, who was listening as he sat in a booth at a restaurant across the street. Peter wasn't going to be happy about this. Neal was supposed to be playing the role of the grieving son of one of the criminals killed by the client, someone following in his father's footsteps and out for revenge. He was going to ask for the client's name in order to find him and rob him blind. But Tulane was right. A professional thief wouldn't go around getting that much publicity when he was about to pull a job. A thief should try to blend into the shadows.

Time for Plan B. The plan he'd made up just now and Peter didn't know about. "I'm a con artist," said Neal. "This client of yours may be a scumbag, but he's an obscenely rich scumbag. From everything I've heard, he may have as much money as Vincent Adler, and he's almost as hard to find. I'm looking for my next target, and I think he's it. I specialize in long cons. The one I'm working now may take a year to wrap up, and it took a year to set up. If I'm going to take on your client next, I know I need a lot of time to do my homework and make connections. I'm in the perfect position to start doing that. All I'm lacking is his name. Tell me who he is and how to find him." He smiled greedily. "C'mon. The guy was planning to kill you. You don't owe him any loyalty."

"True, but I don't want him coming after me if he learns I gave up his identity." Tulane's expression made it clear he needed more convincing. "He's smart. If he catches onto you, he may realize you got his name from me. Convince me you're a good enough con artist to pull this off."

"I don't like to share my secrets," Neal said. "The more people who know, the more risk of getting caught."

"I can vouch for Neal," Mozzie said.

"I need more," Tulane insisted.

Neal had turned down an offer of brandy when they first arrived, but he stood and walked to the bar to pour a glass now. "Want one?" he asked the others. Mozzie declined, but Tulane nodded. Neal carried the glasses back to the sofa. He sat down and put his feet up on an ottoman, the picture of relaxation. "How 'bout a trade? I describe my latest con, and you tell me how you pulled off the Uffizi job."

"It's a deal," said Tulane.

"This is gonna take a while." Neal toed off his shoes. "It's an Anastasia con."

"Posing as a long lost heir?" Tulane asked.

"Mmm. Leading them to believe I'm a long lost heir, while never making any claims. The Caffreys are a wealthy family with lots of connections. He's a retired ambassador, and she's a famous actress. More than 20 years ago, one of their daughters and her three-year-old son disappeared after her husband was discovered to have connections to the mob. Maybe they were killed by the mob, maybe they were whisked away to a witness protection program. No one knows for sure. The ambassador comes from a massive extended family whose life he usually describes as _hardscrabble_. Doesn't keep in touch with most of them anymore since he clawed his way out of their itinerant lifestyle. And in addition to family in the States, there's another branch of artists and musicians back in Ireland." Neal took on the Irish brogue he'd learned from his grandfather.

"Easy enough to convince them you're a distant cousin," Tulane said. "Dark hair, blue eyes. Classic Irish coloring."

"That was part of the inspiration," Neal said. "I told them my parents died in a horrific car crash in Ireland when I was about nine years old. I was in the car myself. Between the concussion and emotional trauma, I don't remember the crash or any of my life before then."

"Handy."

"Indeed. A fictional aunt in the States took me in and raised me. She wasn't a Caffrey, so I'm unfortunately ignorant of the family's history. But like many Caffreys I had a talent for art and music, and a year ago I arranged to run into the ambassador's grandson, Henry, who wanted to start a band. When I studied the Caffreys, he seemed like my best bet for getting inside." Neal scoffed. "Thinks of himself as a rebel."

Tulane pulled out a cigarette. "Do you mind?"

Neal shrugged. He didn't care for smoke but wasn't going to object when he was closing in on his goal. "Henry had plenty to drink when I met him, and it was easy enough to get details about his privileged past when I kept buying beers for him. Told him my name was Neal, and let him notice my last name was Caffrey when I pulled out a credit card with that name. Henry had an axe to grind with a music company and I had time on my hands, so we created a band and went on tour. With a little con artist magic, we became such a big deal that Masterson Music offered us a contract." Neal was abbreviating the timeline. A fan of Urban Legend would know Neal and Henry had been performing together for years, but he took the chance that Tulane wasn't a pop music fan. He wore cowboy boots and had been playing a Keith Urban CD when they arrived. "That's how I met Mozzie."

"I took the role of their agent," Mozz added.

"Now here's where the first challenge comes in. Henry Winslow isn't just any mark. He's an investigator at a firm called Winston-Winslow. They've got a lot of resources. With Mozzie's help, we planted a background for Henry to unravel as he got curious about me. He was looking into my past, not because he distrusted me, but to help me find my roots. However, my origins remain frustratingly shrouded in mystery. The aunt who raised me passed away, so she can't provide answers, but she'd told me very little about my parents. It's almost as if she were afraid to talk about them, like they were in danger or hiding from someone. We can't say for sure, but there seems to be evidence pointing to my parents being American Caffreys who fled to Ireland when I was about three. I can't confirm any of that, but every so often I have a flashback to my lost memories. A lot of my preparation went into that part. Both Henry and his mother have degrees in psychology. She's a professor, but of course wanted to help me work through my issues, and took me on as a client. Probably thought she'd get a research paper out of it she could publish in an academic journal, but I used our 'sessions' to win her over. Imagine her excitement as she gradually brought some of my memories to the surface. Of course she can't publish her findings due to the risk I might really be that kid who's supposed to be in WITSEC. So no one will ever read it and question her results or objectivity."

"Ballsy," said Tulane. "You really convinced a professional you were traumatized?"

Neal finished his brandy and set the glass down nonchalantly. "I told you: I'm good. They're more than half-convinced I'm the long-lost grandson, even though I've never suggested it. They arranged to get me into Columbia University to study art, and I haven't had to pay a dime. The master's degree will get me access to a lot of high-profile institutions and art collectors in the future. And more than that, I'm not supposed to know it, but Edmund Caffrey updated his will to name me as a beneficiary. I can travel the world pursuing my art – at least that's what they'll think – and in the meantime I can keep running cons until he dies and I hit the jackpot."

"You're a good enough artist to pull off the master's degree?"

"I've had a sideline in 'reproductions' for years – ever since I was a teen – creating them and taking the originals. I'm good enough at both that I was a suspect when a Raphael was stolen from the National Gallery over the summer. I'd been in the museum the day before, and that made an FBI agent suspicious. Naturally I had the perfect alibi. My supposed grandmother's memory is a bit sketchy, but she doesn't want to admit it. When I reminded her how we'd spent the evening in question at her home watching her old movies, she said, 'Yes, of course, we had such fun,' and that's it. The ambassador's wife is above reproach. And the whole family's so invested in wanting me to be that kid they lost all those years ago that I don't have to do anything at this point. They're busy conning themselves into what they want to believe. Letting them fill in the blanks and fool themselves is much more effective than simply lying to them." He stretched and sat up straight. "Of course I couldn't pull it off alone. Mozzie's resources… Well, the less said about that, the better, right? Those aren't my secrets to tell. But we've made a great team."

"Not bad," said Tulane.

Neal raised a brow.

"Bordering on brilliant," Tulane acknowledged. "I might be able to use your skills on a future job. Care for a refill?" He put out his cigarette and poured more brandy for both of them. "Now, about Uffizi…" He told them how he'd pulled off that job, with enough detail that the FBI was likely to get a conviction. They wouldn't arrest him today. Neal knew that although Peter would complain, he'd let Tulane get away to keep the criminal community from learning that Neal worked on the other side these days. It would be worth it to get the client's name. And Tulane gave it to them: a name and where he was staying.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Neal walked into the restaurant where Peter was waiting, he'd already removed the watch that had broadcast and recorded his conversation. He slipped it into Peter's hands so smoothly that anyone watching them wouldn't have noticed.

Mozzie slid into the booth with them. Peter had already turned off the monitoring equipment disguised as an iPod and held it tightly in case the little guy decided he'd like to take it. As Peter gestured for the check, Mozzie was nearly bubbling with excitement. "Neal, I have to apologize. I worried that you'd lose your touch working for… you know… but instead you're sharper than ever. If I hadn't run that DNA test to see if you were Henry's clone, I would have believed you up there, claiming you weren't related to him at all. Genius, absolute genius."

Peter put down enough cash to cover the bill and a tip and stood up. "We need to change into our _suits_ , Mozzie."

Not wanting to go to the FBI offices with them, Mozzie made a hasty departure. Peter thanked the agent who was waiting for them as they turned in the equipment. He filled out the appropriate forms in record time as he briefed the agent on what they'd learned. A local team would take over apprehending the client, and they agreed that they needed to let Tulane go for now.

Neal answered when asked a direct question, but he avoided talking. At the condo, telling Tulane how he'd fooled the Caffreys, he'd sounded cold and cruel – pretty much the opposite of how open and warm he usually was around his family. Now, an hour later, he still seemed frozen. His expression was closed, and his body language made it clear he wanted to be left alone. He didn't say a word in the cab, or in the elevator on the way to their floor. Peter followed when Neal unlocked the door to his suite. The kid probably expected it to be empty. Everyone was supposed to be outside, attending hula lessons, but Peter had texted Henry from the Bureau's offices.

In the suite Neal acknowledged Henry with a nod, but all he said was, "Tulane's a smoker. I gotta get the smoke off of me. I feel like my throat's swelling shut." He walked into the bedroom to pick up fresh clothes and a minute later they heard the water running in the shower.

"How bad was it?" Henry asked, keeping an eye on the bathroom door.

Peter sat heavily on a chair in the suite, more tired than he'd been since going on vacation. "On his last case, back in New York, he was hurt. A suspect stabbed him with a skewer." Peter was about to apologize for not telling him about it, but Henry beat him to the punch.

"I know. I called Neal when he was recovering. The pain meds probably made him more chatty than he would have been otherwise." Another glance toward the door. "He didn't seem to be injured this time."

"Not physically, but this almost seems worse." Peter rested his head in his hands for a moment. This case had given him a headache. He looked up again. "To get Tulane to talk, Neal had to… He had to claim he's using you and your family. And… he's a brilliant con artist. It was totally convincing. He… he became that person he pretended to be, the guy who only sees you as a mark. I mean, I've seen him undercover and I knew he was good but today… today he was so cold I'm surprised he doesn't have frostbite. If there's an emotional equivalent of frostbite, that's what he's got. I hope you know how to thaw him out."

The sound of running water stopped. A minute later the bathroom door opened and steam rolled out, as if to underscore that Neal had felt the need for warmth. Neal strolled out. "Dinner plans?"

Peter looked at the time. It was later than he realized. "El sent me a text that we're going to a Japanese restaurant tonight, a couple blocks' walk from here."

Neal made an unconvincing attempt to smile. "Sounds good."

"You aren't hungry," Henry said.

"No, but I can fake it. Won't take much to convince everyone I'm all right."

"You still don't get it." Henry pushed Neal toward the sofa, and they both sat down. "You don't have to fake it, not for your family. Peter will tell them you need time to decompress after the op. They'll understand." He grabbed a booklet from the side table. "Here's the room service menu. Order a cheeseburger for me, and anything you want."

Peter considered staying, but Neal insisted that everyone would worry if they thought he needed two babysitters. "Go," Neal said, and Peter went, but not before telling Henry to call or text if they needed anything.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

"Tell me about it," Henry said after Peter left.

"He already told you," Neal said.

Yeah, Peter had told him, but Henry had hoped to hear it in Neal's words to get a clue as to how to help him get past it. "You gonna keep staring at that menu, or call room service?"

"Food'll get cold in here," Neal said, gesturing toward the air conditioning vents. "Let's hit the beach."

Henry followed. They both often found it easier to relax outdoors, especially when they felt trapped, and he thought that was part of the reason Neal was happy living in his loft with the massive terrace – easy to get outside and think stuff through. Neal stopped near the beach to grab one of the hotel's towels. He was almost on the beach when he suddenly turned and ordered a banana shake from one of the beach-side shacks that sold drinks.

For a while they sat on the sand, listening to the crashing waves, while Neal drank his shake.

There was something familiar about this, and Henry kept trying to figure out what it was. He'd never been to Hawaii before. In the years he'd traveled with Neal, they hadn't spent a lot of time on beaches. Last time had been in the Florida Keys, and they'd tried paddle boarding and snorkeling. They'd been busy and active, not chilling on a beach, so why did he feel a sense of déjà vu?

Neal finished the shake and lay back on the towel, staring up at the stars.

"I'm gonna get a burger from that restaurant down the beach," Henry said. "Want anything?"

Neal handed him the empty cup.

"Refill?"

"Yeah."

Henry scrambled to his feet. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be right back." A few minutes later he returned and handed Neal a fresh shake. He'd eaten half his burger on the walk, and sat down to devour the rest. The teriyaki sauce was fantastic. "You sure you don't want to try one of these?" he asked Neal as he crumbled up the wrapper. "I could get you one fast. Line's real short right now." He put the wrapper in the bag and drew out a package of fries. "And these fries, man. C'mon, take one." He looked at Neal, who was sitting up again and savoring the shake.

Neal shook his head.

"More for me then," said Henry. He thought he saw Neal shiver, which was odd. The sun had gone down but it was still in the mid-70s. He almost warned Neal to take it slow and avoid brain freeze, but honestly he was drinking that shake so slowly you'd think he was trying to make it last all night. And then the memory that had been eluding him popped into place. _Oh, no._ "Peter said you did great work this afternoon. He was impressed at your con. Said he'd never seen anyone act so cold."

"Mozz was worried I'd lose my touch, but I've still got it. I'll always have it."

At last, a response. And he heard it now. It had probably been there all along, but Neal had been suppressing it and Henry hadn't been listening for it. Neal's voice was slightly raspy. It wasn't just overuse from the concert, not two days later. "Maybe it's easier to act cold when you're feeling chilled?"

"What are you…? Hey!" Neal turned away but wasn't quick enough, not now. Henry got a hand on his forehead.

"You're running a fever. I should have realized. Not hungry, not talking, just wanting to be alone. Classic sick Neal." Henry stood up and walked over to a trash bin to get rid of the remnants of his dinner, and then returned to Neal, both hands extended. "We're not two runaways anymore, Neal. We've both got jobs with health insurance. Time to visit a clinic."

Neal begrudgingly grabbed Henry's hands and accepted the help pulling himself to his feet. "Just need sleep," he suggested, but Henry wasn't going to be satisfied until Neal saw a doctor.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When they got back to the hotel room 90 minutes later, Edmund and Irene were anxiously waiting for them. So were Peter and Elizabeth.

"I thought you were going to stay here and order room service," Peter said as soon as they walked inside.

Neal rubbed his face.

"Go on," Henry said gently with a pat on his back. "I got this. You should get some sleep."

Neal nodded and yawned. He clutched a bottle of water as he shambled toward his room.

Henry held up a bag from a local pharmacy. "I figured out what was wrong with Neal. Strep throat. It was bothering him a little the last 24 hours, and then suddenly got worse this afternoon. Doctor gave him a shot of antibiotics and said he won't be contagious after 24 hours. Should be fine to fly back home as planned on Thursday. We've got some stuff from the drug store to keep his fever down and reduce the pain and swelling in his throat. Fortunately he's craving banana milkshakes, because he's got a lot of liquids and soft foods on his menu the next couple of days."

Irene walked up to her oldest grandson and hugged him. While she had him in her embrace, she ran a hand along his cheek, checking for a fever.

"I'm fine," he insisted.

"Yes, but get plenty of rest. I'd rather have you healthy and helping me take care of Neal, than needing to take care of you both."

There was an odd knock on the door, and Edmund opened it to Mozzie. "Where's Neal?" he asked. "Tulane's already been in contact. I need him to…" Mozzie trailed off as he noticed Peter.

"Go on," Peter invited.

"Where's Neal?" he repeated, looking around.

"Poor boy's in bed, running a fever," Irene explained. "The doctor said it's strep throat. You may want to be watchful for symptoms. You spent the afternoon with him?"

Mozzie backed away, one hand over his mouth. It wasn't easy to hear what he was muttering, but it seemed to be a list, including: antibacterial soap, saltwater gargle, and then he'd closed the door behind him and could be heard running down the hall.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal drifted in and out of sleep. He was tired, but too uncomfortable to rest deeply. When the door opened, he rolled over from his back to his side to face Henry.

"Thought you might want more." Henry put a full bottle of water next to the empty one on the nightstand.

"Thanks. Did I hear Mozzie?"

"Yeah. Ran out as soon as he heard you were sick." Henry sat on his bed, across from Neal's. "Need anything?"

Neal shook his head.

"Probably should take the pills the pharmacy gave us." Henry opened the bag and read the instructions on the bottles. "First one says you should take two every four hours until we run out or your throat stops hurting. The one for your fever is every six hours." He popped the lids and poured the prescribed pills into his hand. "Here."

"No, I can't."

"Listen, kiddo, I'm sure swallowing these doesn't sound fun, but they're gonna make you feel better."

"It's not that." Neal sat up. He cleared his throat, which was a painful exercise he hoped he wouldn't need to repeat often. "The doctor asked if I'd been drinking."

"Yeah, you said you hadn't."

"Forgot." Neal drank some water. "At Tulane's. Brandy." He gave up on talking and held up three fingers.

Henry pulled a sheet of paper with very fine print out of the bag. "Drug interactions. Here we go. Alcohol." He read it through. "Well, you can either suffer another few hours before you take these, or you can take them and be very sleepy and loopy and have some vivid dreams. However, it sounds like alcohol or not, those are potential side effects. The alcohol just intensifies it."

"You'll stay?" Neal asked.

"I'll be here. I won't let you do anything too crazy." He grinned. "And I won't let anyone record you either."

Neal held out a hand for the pills. On his last trip to a hospital the pain medication made him think Peter was a dinosaur and El was a bumblebee. It couldn't get worse than that. Swallowing the pills was as awful as he expected. After glugging more water, he settled back into the bed and willed the medicine to take effect. He dozed, occasionally opening his eyes to see Henry across the room, reading a psychology journal.

And he dreamed. In some of the dreams he'd never given up the life of crime. He pictured himself participating in the Uffizi job Tulane had described so vividly. He imagined going to Myanmar to steal rubies. He envisioned forgeries he'd never gotten around to. One dream even featured retiring to an island and building the Manhattan skyline as sand castles. But a component to all of those dreams was the threat of capture. He hadn't made friends in the FBI. Instead he was on their most wanted list. Often he woke panting, as if he was being chased. The last time was so intense he was sweating and tossed the covers off. Henry gave him another set of pills to bring down his fever, and he fell asleep again.

This time he slept longer and dreamed even more vividly. The con he'd spun for Tulane had come true. His life with the Caffreys was a hoax. He didn't really belong, and felt constant pressure to stay a step ahead of them. At first he looked down on them as stupid for believing him. Their happy lives were a silly illusion that he only pretended to believe in. They kept trying to pull him in, but he refused. Being an outsider was part of his allure to them, part of what made the con work. He was cold, inside and out.

"Cold," he said aloud, and then he felt warmer, as if someone had pulled a blanket over him.

And then things changed. It was harder to stay outside their circle. Their warmth seemed to have expanded to include him before he realized it had happened. It was harder to keep his distance, and harder to keep secrets. Henry, in particular, was on the verge of figuring out that Neal had been lying to them. The con was going to fall apart. He'd made a stupid, greedy mistake. Now that he valued this family, now that he truly considered them to be his friends, he was about to lose them.

"Why, Neal?" they asked. "You stole the Raphael. After everything we gave you, why?"

Because he craved the adventure, the challenge. Because it didn't matter how much they gave him or did for him, he'd always want more. Because happy endings weren't for guys like him. Because he was a criminal at heart.

"It's a lie," he admitted to Henry when he knew the truth couldn't be hidden anymore. "It's all a lie. I'm not who you think. You don't know who I am."

"We know you," Henry said, reassuringly. Why wasn't he yelling, or walking away?

Neal blinked. "You're still here."

"Not going anywhere, kiddo. I promised. Sit up now. Time for more pills. And if you're up to it, you really ought to eat something."

He did as instructed, and after he swallowed the pills asked, "I'm really your brother?"

"Yeah. Is that what that last dream was about? Scared of having a big brother to keep you on the straight and narrow?"

"Like you'd recognize the straight and narrow." Neal reached for a water bottle and it was empty.

"Here." Henry handed him a full one.

"What time is it?" Neal wondered.

"About 8am on Tuesday. Think you're up to a shower and then hanging out with Dor and Dressa in the suite? They're worried about you, and you're not contagious anymore."

"Yeah, let's try."

"What do you want for breakfast? We'll call room service."

"Banana shake."

"And?"

"Another banana shake. Keep 'em coming."

"Okay. Maybe we'll add on some scrambled eggs to make things interesting."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

When Peter got the text that Neal was up and about Tuesday morning, he and El stopped by the suite to check on him. He was seated in the suite's living room with his grandparents, watching TV. They'd found one of Irene's old movies, and she was telling stories about playing practical jokes on the other actors in the film. Neal's smile was particularly loopy.

Henry had opened the door and as they entered Peter asked in an undertone, "How is he?"

"Veeerrry happy," Henry said. "We had Disney's _Fantasia_ on the TV earlier. He started humming the song from 'The Sorcerer's Apprentice' and wouldn't stop. Said he couldn't find the end. Oh, and apparently he's addicted to banana shakes."

"We can bring him a pineapple one later for variety," El suggested. "And I saw something on the room service kid's menu called a coconut fizz. That's probably easy on the throat."

"Good idea." Henry followed them inside.

"Peter!" Neal's voice was enthusiastic, if hoarse. "It's my favorite movie."

Peter sat down next to El. "Yeah? How long has this been your favorite?"

Neal closed his eyes and scrunched his face in deep thought. "Nineteen years." He opened his eyes. "Yep. Nineteen."

"What happened 19 years ago?" El asked.

"Flu. Bored. Wouldn't stay in my room. Mom put this movie in the VCR. I played it over and over."

It was a family-friendly movie called _The Playboy and the Bobby-Soxer_ , one where Irene had been in her early 20s and played a teenager with a crush on her older sister's love interest. "You must have really liked it," El said.

"Mm-hmm. Mom asked why I kept replaying it. Said I liked her voice." He nodded toward Irene. "Comforting." He sank more deeply into the sofa cushions. "Mom said…" He looked at Irene. "Called you my babysitter."

"Truer words," said his grandmother.

Neal reached for his banana shake, and grumbled when he saw it was nearly empty.

Irene smiled fondly. "Ah now, there's my Baby Bear. We'll get you another one in a bit. Have some water. We want to keep you hydrated."

The grumbling growl lessened slightly, and finally ended as he drank the water. But his frown indicated he did not think water was an acceptable substitute.

"Angela and Rosalind and Viola are stopping by later," Henry said. "They said they'd bring lunch from one of the restaurants nearby, to give us a break from room service. It's going to be like dinner theater. Angela's teaching them lines from some of Dressa's old movies to act out scenes with her."

"Oh, that sounds like fun," El said.

"I've heard you're an actress yourself now," Irene mentioned. "I hope you'll join us."

"It's only community theater," El demurred.

"How do you think I started out? Please say you'll take part. Everyone else is."

"Everyone?" asked Henry.

"Well, you can't expect Edmund to be the leading man all the time. He needs support. You'll be very dashing once we get you in costume."

 _Costumes?_ "I should really stop by the Bureau soon and catch up on the case," Peter said before anyone tried to volunteer him.

"You won't stay and play Agent Baker?" Irene asked, referring to a classic character supposedly inspired by Sherlock Holmes. He always wore suits in the movies. That wouldn't be too bad.

"I guess I could postpone the trip until the afternoon," Peter conceded.

Neal grumbled.

Irene smoothed back his hair. "I know you'd like to play Baker, but he has more lines than you could speak today." She named another part, a character infamous for his dramatic flair and over-the-top death scene. "He doesn't say as much, but he's very memorable."

It wasn't long before Neal fell asleep, leaning on his grandfather's shoulder. While Irene described a part she envisioned for El, Peter took the opportunity to ask Henry, "Do you really think Neal's up to this?"

"We'll take it in small increments. The girls already know they're supposed to call for frequent breaks for snacks or costume changes. Anyway, this is what you wanted Sunday evening, remember? You said Neal needed a cure for emotional frostbite."

"I thought you'd decided the virus was making him act out of character."

"It contributed. Now that we've got the physical fever and chills under control, I'm trying to warm up his soul. He's going to be barraged with the caring and love of family. There may be a temporary side effect of being exhausted sometimes, but this is the best cure I know."

 **Wednesday morning. January 5, 2005.**

Neal had been eager to get outside, and Angela was happy to have him back on his feet again. It was their last full day in Hawaii, and he'd insisted on returning from sick mode to vacation mode. He was still tired, and Henry seemed equally worn out from watching over him. Currently they both dozed on beach towels on the sand. Angela, Rosalind and Viola sat on the sand trying to guess Henry's nickname, while Irene, Julia and Betty sat on beach chairs watching their grandchildren with fond indulgence.

"Did Billy Feng mention what was in that tea he brought for Neal yesterday?" Julia asked.

"No. He simply described it as an old family remedy for sore throats, and said it was sweetened with honey," Irene said.

"Honey is soothing," Betty said. "I remember giving my boys a teaspoon of honey for a sore throat."

"Don't tell Henry that. He has such a sweet tooth, he might pretend his throat hurts if he thinks you'll give him honey." Irene winked at Angela and then said, "I remember the way Henry giggled as a baby. At first I thought he was happy, and that was true, but he was also very ticklish. The slightest touch set him off."

"Oh, I remember that too," said Julia Winslow. "Such an infectious laugh. You couldn't pick him up without setting it off. Noelle finally managed it. She was able to pick him up without waking him, but the rest of us learned that leaving a restaurant or church or even a concert hall meant hearing him shriek with laughter."

"Neal had more of a chuckle," Irene added. "And I noticed that if you made either of them laugh, if the other was in hearing distance he'd start to laugh, too. Heaven forgive me but once out of curiosity I tickled Henry while Neal was napping, and Neal started laughing in his sleep."

"I suppose they've both outgrown that now," Betty said. "Or so they would claim."

"These are certainly ideal circumstances for an experiment," Julia added. "If we wanted to find out."

Something in the women's smiles warned Angela and she realized her companions were creeping up on her cousins. Rosalind had a handful of sand and was slowly pouring it on Henry's bare chest. He started to smile, and then was actually giggling.

Beside him, Neal chuckled.

It went on a little too long, and perhaps Angela should have warned Rosalind and Viola when she noticed that their victims weren't asleep anymore. Before she could decide where her loyalties belonged in this situation, Henry surged to his feet, pulling Rosalind with him. He swept her over his shoulder in a fireman's hold and ran into the ocean, dumping her in the water.

Neal and Viola stood up, with Viola laughing until the moment Neal grabbed her hand and followed Henry into the ocean.

Betty smiled. "Tickle bugs can be a tempting target, but they do learn to defend themselves."

Angela ran over to where her four friends were emerging from the surf. She slapped Henry on the arm as if they were playing tag and yelled, "Tickle Bug!"

He froze only an instant before chasing her down and dumping her in the ocean, too. She yelled, "Tickle Bug!" the entire time.

All five of them played tag in the ocean for a while, calling "tickle bug" instead of "you're it" when tagging each other. Eventually they returned to their grandmothers, plopping down on beach towels. Irene gave them her most innocent look and said, "Now that you mention it, we did call little Henry our Tickle Bug. Such a lucky guess."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

As it sank in that it was their last full day in Hawaii, everyone had one more thing they wanted to fit in – something they wanted to do, a place to visit or revisit. They went their separate ways for lunch and the afternoon, and agreed to meet as a group for dinner.

Graham and Julia Winslow planned to take the yacht out one last time, and naturally Henry wanted to join them. He loved being on the water; he was more relaxed on a boat than anyplace else. Neal realized that Henry had sacrificed time on the yacht in order to look after him when he was sick. So when Henry asked Neal to spend the afternoon on the boat, it was a no-brainer, especially when he sounded stressed. A tour of Iolani Palace could wait for another vacation.

First Neal had a quiet lunch with his grandparents, and then headed to the dock. When he reached the boat Henry seemed to be meditating, probably part of the mindfulness technique he'd studied that fall in India. Henry and Graham had spent a few months there after Robert – Henry's father and Graham's son – had died in a showdown with the FBI and U.S. Marshals.

For a moment Neal wondered if Henry intended to return to India, perhaps permanently. He'd found peace there, so Neal should support the move if that's what he needed, but it would be hard to sound happy for him when it meant seeing each other much less frequently.

Graham – he'd told Neal months ago to call him Pops – welcomed Neal aboard. "The missus and I are going to be with the captain." He pointed up to a glassed-in area from which the boat was piloted. "You boys will have the deck to yourselves." He ruffled Henry's hair and added, "Let me know if you need help."

"You remember where –" Henry started.

"Yes, the course is set for exactly where you want to go," Graham promised, and then he left them.

Henry grabbed a soft drink from a cooler. "Want anything?"

Neal selected a drink and then joined Henry in a seating area. Soon the yacht was pulling away from the dock. He sensed that there was something Henry was working up to saying, so he patiently waited rather than kicking off a conversation.

"Remember when we were talking about _The Wizard of Oz_ when we first got here, and I said I was the lion?"

Neal nodded. "Closest thing to a tiger, you said. Was there another reason?"

"Yeah. Because I've been a coward."

Neal found that hard to believe. Henry had walked into a warehouse and exchanged places with Robert's hostage, knowing a gun battle was imminent. It didn't get much braver than that. "Afraid to admit I'm the smarter brother?"

Henry's grin only lasted a moment. "Back when you ran away and I found you, in those next few years of traveling and avoiding my dad, there were a couple of things we never talked about."

"My flashbacks," Neal said, remembering how he'd refused to discuss the events he'd been repressing. "And…" He thought he knew now what this was about.

"Yeah."

"You have to say it," Neal said, remembering what Joe had told him. Saying things out loud had a power. It made them real.

"You already know. When we hang out a lot we can almost read each other's minds."

They were often on the same wavelength, but not always. There was one time in particular, Neal wished he'd been quicker on the uptake. It was a few months after they'd started performing as Urban Legend. Neal had been 18, and Henry was 20…

 _They were at a music festival. It was a perfect summer day and they'd just finished a performance, and a girl had approached them when they left the stage. She said she and her friend were big fans and would really like to get to know the Legend brothers better. Groupies. Neal couldn't believe they actually had groupies now. He had a drink with them at the concession stand and then said he'd see what was taking his brother so long. Henry should have returned by then._

 _Henry had gone to put their guitars in the car. He'd promised they could hang out and listen to some of the other groups perform, and should have only been in the parking lot for a minute. For some reason he was just standing there by his car, lost in thought. Neal ran up, laughing with sheer joy at a day where everything was going their way. He told Henry the girls were still waiting for them and said, "C'mon," but Henry just stood there. "I'm telling you, they're smoking hot, and they are seriously into us. C'mon."_

" _No," said Henry._

" _What, are you gay or something?" Neal teased._

 _Henry's hands were clenched. "Maybe."_

 _Neal stared at him in shock. "Huh? You're joking, right?"_

 _Henry walked around the car and opened the driver's door. "I'll pick you up in a few hours."_

" _Wait!" Neal had yelled, but the motor roared to life and the car sped away. When Henry returned, Neal tried to talk about it. "I'm sorry," he'd said._

" _Shut up," Henry said._

" _There's nothing wrong with it, I mean, if that's what you –"_

" _We are not talking about this," Henry insisted. And that had been his stance for the next eight years._

Now they were finally going to have this conversation. "You invited me here so you could say it. You know you have to put it into words," Neal insisted.

"I'm gay! All right?" Henry stood abruptly and paced around the deck, prowling like a tiger. It's as if he were the same 20-year-old picking up the thread of that long ago conversation, uncertain and ready to lash out in pain. "There. Are you happy?"

"Are you?" Neal asked.

Henry came to an abrupt stop. "I don't know." He ran his hands through his hair. "Maybe not yet, but I can see the path to get there. It's a start, anyway."

"A start is good," Neal said, keeping his voice calm. Henry needed calm right now, until that old pain and fear subsided. "You know I always wished I'd handled it differently, back then. It wasn't that it made a difference to me either way. It was just a shock. By the time I was thinking clearly, you wouldn't touch the subject with a ten-foot pole. Why wouldn't you talk about it, after you came back?"

"Are you kidding? You were barely 18. I thought if anyone found out, they might think I was taking advantage of you. People say some ugly things now. There was even less tolerance then. I didn't think I could stand it if someone accused me of…" He shuddered.

"We claimed to be brothers most of the time," Neal pointed out. "It felt real, even before we knew it was real."

"But we didn't have any proof we were brothers, just a couple of fake IDs. It wasn't a risk I was ready to take. And… Hell, I wasn't ready to admit it to myself." He plopped down onto one of the padded bench seats. "I mean, I _knew_. Deep down I'd known for a while but I still wasn't ready to say it."

"I thought maybe you'd talk to me about it when you finished your master's. Some of those electives you chose focused on gender roles and sexuality. And there was that paper you wrote about the impacts of keeping sexual orientation a secret."

Henry nodded. "By the time I graduated I was getting more comfortable with… everything. I might have come out, but then I went temporarily insane and thought it was a good time to reconnect with Dad."

 _Yeah, Robert's loathing of homosexuals would have been a setback._

"You know the last thing he said to me?" Henry added. "There in the warehouse holding a gun to my head, after all the times he'd accused me of being gay, for once he finally asked me."

Neal remembered. Robert had said something the rest of them couldn't hear, and Henry had nodded. And then Robert had announced to everyone that he was going to clean up his mistake, meaning that Henry was too flawed to be allowed to live. It was difficult to keep his cool in the face of that memory. Neal realized he was clenching his fists and made an effort to relax. "You remember Agent Travis Miller?"

Henry thought a moment. "Sounds vaguely familiar."

"He tends to stay in the background, but he was there when we found where Robert had stashed you and Angela after kidnapping you. Travis specializes in tech and communications. We'd confiscated the phone of Robert's accomplice, and Travis was trying to pull data from it when Robert called that number. He decided to answer, to see if he could learn anything about where Robert was hiding out, and during the conversation Robert found out that Travis is gay."

Henry winced in sympathy.

"We have another agent – Diana Berrigan – who's upfront about it. Her first day on the team, everyone knew. Travis tends to tell people one-by-one, when he thinks they're ready to hear it, and from what he's told me he put up with a lot of bullying in high school. Between that, and his own experiences talking to Robert, he probably has a good understanding of what you've gone through."

"Listen, I don't need you to set me up –"

"No, that's not where I'm going," Neal interrupted. "Travis is already in a relationship with a good friend of mine at Columbia. But the thing is, if you want to talk to someone… you know, someone other than me…"

"Someone who understands what it's like to be gay and come out. I get it. Thanks. That could be helpful."

"Who else knows?" Neal asked.

Henry took a deep breath. "I came to terms with who I am and Dad's reaction to it while I was in India. Since I was traveling with Pops, I told him. I'd already been talking to him so fervently about rights and benefits for gay employees at Win-Win, I think that helped ease him into it."

"Did he tell Julia?"

Henry nodded. "Other than that, you're the only person I've told. I didn't want to make a big announcement until after the wedding. That day – this whole vacation really – was about Mom and Joe, and I didn't want to steal the spotlight. But I made a New Year's resolution…" He rolled his eyes at Neal's expression. "Yeah, not really my thing, but this year it seemed appropriate. I'm going to tell everyone in the next few weeks; family, co-workers, they'll all find out." He paused and drank deeply from the soda can. "I think Mom will be the least surprised. She knows me well, she's a psychologist, and she used to run interference when Dad went on a rant about me doing something he thought was gay, like trying out for a school play."

Neal agreed. Even if she hadn't guessed, he trusted that Noelle would be understanding and supportive. He was about to ask who Henry planned to tell next, when he realized the boat had been sitting in the same position for a while now, with the motor off. "Pops said you picked our destination?"

Henry gestured toward the shore. Dominating the view was the Rainbow Tower. "Seemed appropriate."

"I don't think coming out is what people mean when they talk about going over the rainbow," Neal teased, and with that comment Henry finally seemed to relax. If they could joke about it, they were going to be okay. "Are you going to yell at Angela and everyone else when you tell them?"

"Nah, I saved all the pent-up angst for you. I'll be calmer with everyone else."

"You're welcome," said Neal.

"Yeah, whatever."

"I almost thought you were going to tell me over Thanksgiving."

"Uh-huh. You and all your hints about closets. Real subtle, kiddo." Henry leaned back on the bench seat, hands behind his head, and looked up at the sky. "I considered it, but chickened out. Plus we were guests of the Burkes. I realized I needed a place like this, where I could vent and yell and get it all out there without anyone rushing in to ask what's wrong."

"There's nothing wrong with you." Neal put his feet up. "Well, you're kind of ugly…" They bantered for a while, and were both smiling when the yacht returned to the dock.

As they were walking into a Korean-Hawaiian fusion restaurant to meet everyone for dinner, Henry tensed up again. "Listen, I appreciate your support," he said. "But I understand if you're not comfortable, you know, hanging out the way we used to, once people know."

Neal stared at him in shock a moment and then, in full view of their families, pulled him into a hug and muttered, "You idiot. You're still my best friend, even when we're not in Oz anymore."

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

After dinner, Neal told Peter he'd like to talk to him. "I was too sick to talk about it at first," Neal said, "but there's some stuff we should discuss, kind of related to the case."

It didn't take an FBI agent to figure out that the case was an excuse finally to cover what had been bothering Neal since before they left New York. Peter had been ready to remind him of his promise to come clean about whatever the problem was before this vacation ended. "How about I buy you one more banana shake?" Peter offered.

Neal shook his head. "I think I've overdosed on those. I need a break from banana. Maybe pineapple."

With shakes in hand, they found a quiet spot on the beach.

Of course Neal couldn't simply start talking. Even when he requested the conversation, it seemed like you had to drag the words out of him sometimes. After a few minutes of silence, Peter decided it might help to start on a different topic. "Everything okay with Henry?"

Neal looked at him oddly. "Why do you ask?"

"He was quieter than usual." And there'd been that hug when they walked into the restaurant, as if Henry needed emotional support. El had elbowed Peter in the ribs to bring his attention to that.

Whatever it had been about, it didn't seem to have Neal worried. He flashed an enigmatic smile and said, "He's gonna be fine. Pretty soon he'll have a whole new lease on life." Then out of the blue he said, "This afternoon Henry reminded me of something we said when we first got here, about Hawaii being Oz. He was the lion, and I'd said I was the scarecrow."

"Odd choice for a college student who aced his first semester."

Neal waved that away impatiently. "Studying art's different. I wanted extra brain cells to figure out this whole one-year anniversary at the FBI."

"What about it?"

Neal traced drawings in the sand as he spoke. "People keep talking about how much has changed in my life. And they're right, in one regard. All year long I'd kept looking at where I was, at what I was doing, and thinking how I never would have guessed… Even more than that, I wouldn't have believed it would be possible that I'd be working for you at the FBI, living in June's loft, accepted by my family, and going to grad school."

"That is a lot of change in one year," Peter agreed. He'd prepared for this. He was ready to assure Neal that the rate of change would slow now, and it wouldn't always be so overwhelming.

"The thing is, what changed are my circumstances. I haven't changed." He looked at Peter for a reaction.

"You haven't?" This was a curveball that had Peter revising his mental script.

Neal wiped out his doodles in the sand. "Everyone assumes I've changed a lot, too. But I haven't. I still think _con_ instead of _sting._ I still hear _crew_ and think of a group of criminals and not a construction team. I hear Tulane describe the Uffizi job and wish I could have been there. I visit the museum here and consider how I'd beat their security. I'm not reformed, Peter. I know that's what you hoped for a year ago. That was the deal, right? I joined your team and was supposed to stop being a criminal. I've put up a good act, and put a lot of impressive-sounding stuff in my year-end accomplishments, but the truth is I failed. I thought you should know. You can fire me, or tell me to quit, or whatever minimizes the impact to your career."

Peter stood up and put his hands on his hips. "Tell me, hardened criminal, how many museums have you broken into this last year?"

"Well, there was that time with Klaus –"

"That was an undercover op, to prevent a theft." Peter tossed the last of his shake in the trash. "Walk with me."

"Huh?"

"You've been worrying over this for weeks. I need a few minutes to think it over to make sure I've got my head fully wrapped around it before I give you an answer. If I were home, I'd do my thinking over a crossword puzzle or a hockey game. Or if that failed me, I'd take Satchmo for a walk."

"I'm your substitute for Satchmo?"

"A poor substitute. At least he usually follows orders." Peter strode down the beach and pondered this latest twist in the journey of being Neal's boss, father figure and mentor. Neal called himself the scarecrow, but the refrain "If only I had a brain" kept running through Peter's mind. He wouldn't turn down a mental boost right now.

Neal followed along. "We could –"

"No."

"But what if I –"

"Hush." Peter picked up an abandoned beach ball.

Neal raised a brow. "I'm not playing fetch."

"No, but you'll play catch."

"I don't think that's the right sort of ball for –"

"It's all part of the process. Back up. A little more. Yeah, that's about right." They threw the ball back and forth. At first Peter made it easy, but after a few rounds he upped the challenge, making Neal leap or run to the side to make the catch. He adapted easily, using the speed and grace he usually attributed to being a cat burglar. But those skills applied to sports and other activities, too. The kid had been a decent dancer for that New Year's Eve performance. Keeping in mind that Neal was still recovering from strep, Peter didn't make the game too physically challenging. Soon he caught the ball and held onto it. The answer was taking form, in two parts. "I think you're missing some stuff." He started walking back toward the hotel, and Neal fell in step.

"Like what?"

"Like how much you _have_ changed. Back before your birthday, you didn't think you'd be comfortable around the Caffreys, especially all of them as a group. Now they don't intimidate you at all. And over the summer you had doubts you could handle grad school. Now you're Sherkov's favorite student, and you've got a bunch of college friends." Peter realized he was still carrying the beach ball and tossed it back over his shoulder, in the direction he'd found it. "And how about the way you've made a place for yourself in the team? You've got them playing hide-and-seek with you every Tuesday and calling it a training exercise in tailing suspects."

"That's more about them changing than me," Neal objected.

"I'm not so sure about that. I think you're slowly coming around to being a team player. Still got a lot of lone wolf tendencies, though. That's a sneak preview of your annual review, by the way." It was getting dark, and Peter stopped in the pool of light under a lamppost. Neal stayed on the fringes of that light, as if undecided whether he was more comfortable in the light or the dark. Peter took a deep breath and hoped he got the second part of the answer right. It was the trickiest, and the most important. "But honestly, I think you're right. The essence of who you are hasn't changed. You're still the same person I recruited a year ago."

Neal swallowed. His eyes darted toward the darkness.

Peter resisted the urge to lunge forward to grab Neal. Triggering his flight instinct wasn't going to help. "A year ago I saw a brilliant young man with a genius for undercover work. I saw someone who was mischievous, not evil. A criminal by circumstance, because other avenues appeared closed to him. An artist, a strategist, a loyal friend, someone who abhors violence. What I saw, when I got to know Neal Caffrey, was someone who is basically good, who needed a chance to see that he could make a difference for good in the world. Someone who needed an invitation back into the light." He stepped forward slowly, and placed a hand on Neal's shoulder. "I'm not going to rescind that invitation because you still have all your old skills and vocabulary. You bring those to the table every day at work to help us catch bad guys. Why would I complain about that?"

 **Friday evening. January 7, 2005.**

Neal was yawning as he walked inside the mansion. He'd managed to sleep on the 12-hour flight home yesterday, but the seven-hour time difference meant it was nearly dawn when he got home this morning. He'd simply taken a shower, put on a suit, and gone to work. The only question now was whether he had enough energy to eat dinner before falling into bed.

"Happy New Year, Neal."

He hadn't even noticed June in the foyer. This was the first time he'd seen her since leaving for Hawaii, and he stepped forward to hug her. "Happy New Year." It had been her first Christmas and New Year's without Byron, and he studied her closely. No signs of crying recently. "Did Emil get the gift I left for him in the kitchen?

"See for yourself," June said. "Follow me."

Neal followed her to the kitchen, where he was surprised to see her chef. Usually Emil was gone by the time Neal got home from work, unless June was entertaining. "You remembered!" Emil said when he saw Neal.

"You told me Kona coffee was one of your favorites," Neal responded with a smile.

"And here's one of yours. Sit, sit." Emil started preparing sole almondine as Neal sat at the kitchen table. That in itself was a rare treat. Emil generally didn't approve of people eating their meals in his kitchen. _Diners belong in the dining room_ seemed to be his motto. But tonight Neal ate in the kitchen, sitting with Emil and June, and shared stories about his time Hawaii. Emil's primary interest was in the food, and while he had a flair for gourmet cuisine, he didn't turn his nose up at casual fare. Neal had no qualms about admitting his newfound love of banana milkshakes.

Once the meal was over, Neal was yawning again. "I won't keep you," June said. "I know you're jet-lagged, but I have to thank you for the Christmas gift. Where did you manage to find a recording of Byron playing his trumpet? 'Old Devil Moon' was always a favorite of ours."

"Remember Cassie Blanca and Samantha Weston? They were so grateful for your help getting their musical careers back on track last summer that they wanted to do something for you. I sent them to the clubs where the two of you used to hang out, and they asked around to find out who would have recordings from those days. Eventually they hit the jackpot."

 **Monday morning. January 10, 2005.**

Hughes had joined the morning briefing. He shared news of the arrest of a Chinese magnate who had been commissioning crimes from Honolulu. "Apparently Caffrey and Agent Burke forgot they were on vacation, because they're mentioned prominently in the report. Peter, will you fill the team in on what happened?"

Peter summarized the case, leaving out the references to Viagra. This was the FBI, after all, not a bachelor party – although Neal seemed to be signaling Diana and Jones that there was more to the story. As Peter wrapped up his report, Hughes added that since both Peter and Neal had been working a case, he'd revised their timesheets for last week to show they had been working two days, which meant they got back two vacation days for use later in the year.

"A couple of more announcements," Peter said. "These are in the interest of full disclosure, to make sure I don't repeat some mistakes I made last year. First, many of you know that in 2004 we worked several cases with a private investigation and security firm called Winston-Winslow. It's a partnership that was encouraged by the upper ranks of the Bureau, and they want to see it continue. Some of you also know that over the holidays my brother married Noelle Winslow, who's on the board of directors of Win-Win. We don't want any appearance of a conflict of interest, and for that reason I'm turning over to Agent Jones the role of primary liaison with Win-Win."

Peter paused as Jones accepted congratulations from several team members. It was a high profile role and would be good for his career.

"Related to that announcement, last summer a few of you were concerned that I might be biased in my dealings with Neal. I hope I've alleviated those concerns. The wedding I mentioned may raise some new concerns, however, and I want to address those head-on. Noelle Winslow is related to Neal. Some of you have met her son, Henry Winslow, and know that he's one of Neal's best friends. They often say they're like brothers. The wedding means Henry is now my nephew, and you might say by extension that Neal is like a nephew, too. I'm sure you Harvard grads in the room are familiar with the term _nepotism_." He sighed. "No, don't raise your hands. My point is, if you have any reason to believe that I'm showing favoritism, or that I'm being too hard on Neal, I want you to let me know. I don't expect it to be an issue, but I do want you to know that you're allowed, and even encouraged, to speak up if you think there's a problem. Got it?" There were nods around the room, and Peter ended the meeting.

 **WCWCWCWCWCWCWC**

Neal, Diana and Jones went to a nearby café for lunch, where he filled in the more risqué aspects of the case he'd helped solve in Hawaii, not to mention the way the entire wedding party had gotten involved. They were still laughing as they left the café to walk back to the office.

"Oh, look," Diana said. "It's snowing."

Normally Neal wasn't a fan of snow, but he was in a mellow mood. There was a beauty to the rapidly accumulating blanket of white covering the city.

"Big change from Hawaii," Jones said.

"I miss the beach," Neal admitted, "but there's no place like home."

 _A/N: Silbrith suggested the title of Neal's favorite movie, which is a variation on an actual movie: The Bachelor and the Bobby-Soxer._

 _Thanks for reading Caffrey Aloha. This is the final chapter, and the next story in this AU is Silbrith's The Dreamer._

 _When I chose this story's title, Silbrith commented on the fact that Aloha also means goodbye. I'm not exactly saying goodbye, but I am taking a break. In 2016 my primary writing focus is an original, futuristic mystery novel. Silbrith is taking the lead on the Caffrey Conversation AU, with a breathtaking set of stories in the works. I'll post short vignettes in the AU between her stories, so you'll still see updates from me occasionally._

 _Creating this AU and sharing it with White Collar fans has been amazing, and the collaboration with Silbrith made the experience even better than I would have believed possible. Thanks very much for your comments and reviews. If you have questions or comments about this story, the AU in general, or what I'm working on next, feel free to post a note or PM me. Aloha!_


End file.
